


Hope is the thing with feathers

by Laurelin (Lintelomiel)



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Developing Relationship, Dry Humping, Falling In Love, Felching, Haphephobia, Hospitals, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Medical Procedures, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con (not between main pairing), Phone Sex, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Romance, Sexting, Tattoos, Therapy, Trauma, Triggers, Trust Issues, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 251,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintelomiel/pseuds/Laurelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee, a drama school drop-out, now works as a tattoo artist at a successful parlor in New York's East Village. When he meets Richard, a stage actor who is making it on Broadway, some long-repressed regrets finally catch up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robin

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory disclaimer: This is a complete and utter work of fiction. And it has gotten way bigger and darker than I ever thought it would (altough there is plenty of fluff to go around too). Please consider the tags before reading.
> 
> The title is from the eponymous poem by Emily Dickinson.  
> A song that inspired me: https://youtu.be/JP-lwkI3j-w

"Hey Lee, your 9.30 is here." 

"Be there in a sec." As Evie's bright turquoise pigtails disappear back inside and the door falls shut behind her, Lee takes a last, savoring drag of his cigarette and drops it with a flick of his fingers, crushing the butt under the heel of his worn-down Converse sneaker. With an all-too-familiar feeling of defeatist acceptance, he finishes listening to the voicemail message his brand new ex left while he was working on a client earlier that day, coolly informing him that his clothes, CD's and other belongings have been packed up in boxes and will be put out with the trash if he doesn't pick them up by Saturday. He makes a mental note to start looking for an affordable place - and ideally a laid-back roommate to split the rent with - the next day, puts his phone on mute and goes inside to meet his client. 

As bummed out as he feels about being dumped and kicked to the curb - again - he supposes it could be worse. At least he is earning an honest living this time, doing a job that he loves and is good at. It should be smooth sailing-- only one more appointment until he can punch out for the day, and McTavish seemed like a pleasant sort of fellow when he came in to discuss designs that same morning. Late forties maybe, a bit rugged looking, like a sailor on leave; his most distinguishing features were a Scottish accent to match his name and a sarcastic sense of humor that reminded Lee of an uncle he used to have as a kid, who had emigrated to Thailand and was never spoken of again. While Lee can make small talk with any client - it is part of the job, especially with nervous first-timers who need the distraction - not having to fake an interest in the person makes the whole process so much easier. 

Before heading out into the reception area, he pauses at the front desk and gives Evie's shoulder a squeeze. "I need a place to stay tonight, Eve. Can I crash on your couch?" 

"Yeah, sure, but how come--" Her smile of surprise fades when she sees his expression and the penny drops. "Oh my god, Lee, are you saying-- did it not work out between you and--" 

"Nope." The grin he gives her is too bright, too cheerful, but he can't let his true feelings come to the surface now, not when he's about to meet a client. "Single and homeless in one fell swoop, lily bud. Details later, okay?" 

"Okay." She worries her lip piercing between her teeth and rubs his arm in sympathy. "Hang in there, honey. You can stay with me as long as you need to. We'll have a proper pity party. Eat too much ice cream, talk smack about men, all that really therapeutic stuff." 

Lee nods gratefully and leans down, receiving a little cherry-flavored kiss of commiseration. Then he heads into the waiting area, spotting McTavish and walking up to greet him. "Mr. McTavish, thank you for waiting." 

The Scot gets to his feet and shakes Lee's hand. His smile is easy, genuine. "It's Graham. No need to make me feel older than I already am." With a nod, he indicates the man sitting next to him, who gets up as well. "I brought a mate, for hand-holding." 

Lee smiles and turns to the other guy, noting that both men give firm handshakes, like businessmen closing a deal. "I'm Lee, good to meet you." 

"Richard." The music blaring over the speakers all but drowns out the soft response, and as he leans forward to catch the name, Lee realizes two things: one, the man whose hand he's holding is fucking gorgeous, and two, his face looks vaguely familiar somehow. A former client? No, Lee is sure he would remember inking this guy's body more clearly if that were the case. A model? New York is crawling with them, and a bone structure like that wouldn't look ill on the cover of _GQ_ or _Esquire_. Lee is gaping at this point, and the man blinks in growing discomfort, gaze flitting away from Lee's blatant stare. Probably not a model, then; Lee has met enough people from that cutthroat world to know that someone as apparently demure as this guy would be eaten alive. 

After a too-long moment of confused silence, Lee remembers his professionalism and retrieves his hand. "Right. Well, if you will both follow me to my work station, then we'll get started."


	2. Dove

As he crosses the floor to his work area with the two others in tow, Lee is pleased to see that Aidan is almost done setting up. He's had some crummy apprentices in the past, but Aidan shows promise. "Aidan will help get you prepared and observe," he explains to Graham. "He's here to learn the trade. Is that okay with you?" 

"Of course, no problem." More vigorous handshaking follows, and Lee has to suppress a little smile at seeing Aidan's bemused expression. Birds of all kinds of plumage visit the shop every day, but two proper gentlemen like Graham and Richard are not too common. They both look like they could pull off a suit and tie and spend hours hobnobbing with executives without breaking a sweat, Richard more so than Graham. As his eyes roam the strong, distinctive lines of Richard's profile, Lee feels another twinge of intrigue and shakes it off irritably; why can't he remember where he's seen that face before? 

While Lee slips on a new pair of latex gloves, takes out his needle kit and prepares his machine, Aidan finishes sterilizing the chair and then tends to Graham, who's taken off his shirt and quips with Richard while Aidan meticulously cleans and shaves the chosen spot on his ribcage. The final step is transferring the stencil with the design Lee has prepared earlier as per Graham's wishes: a swirling ribbon with the name Jennifer and a date, borne by two white doves. It's a pretty straightforward commemorative tattoo; Lee's portfolio is bursting at the seams with others very much like it. 

"Are you happy with how that looks, Graham?" he asks as Graham turns this way and that in front of the mirror, studying the design from all possible angles. "Last chance to change your mind." 

"You're a genius, Lee," Graham praises. "It's everything I wanted and more. You came highly recommended by my buddy Jimmy, and I can see why." 

"Yeah?" Lee smiles at the mention of the charismatic Irishman who already sports some of his most outlandish pieces and keeps coming back for more. "Say hi to ol' Jimmy for me when you see him." 

Graham turns to his companion. "What do you think, Rich?" 

They all look at Richard, who so far hasn't uttered a word other than his first name. "I think it's gonna hurt like hell," he comments, a little smirk curving his lips. "But if you're sure, Gray, I'm here for you." 

Graham rolls his eyes at him in the mirror. "The design, you tosser. What do you think of the design?" 

Richard's cheeks pink up adorably, and while he fumbles for an answer, Lee permits himself to imagine a few other things that would make him blush like that. Being single again does have its perks. "It's very... fitting," Richard finally blurts, wincing slightly and glancing nervously at Lee. "I mean... you're clearly very talented, Lee. I guess I was just expecting something a little more, uh... robust? More like your other tattoos, Gray." 

"See how helpful he is?" Graham grins and winks at Lee. "That's the whole point, Rich. Jen doesn't care for my older tattoos, so I'm getting one that she will like, something romantic. You know anything more romantic than a fucking pair of doves, mate?" 

"Well, why do you need my approval, then?" Richard shrugs and smiles. "If you think she will like the doves, by all means get the doves. I'm just here for moral support, remember?" 

"Right, let's do it." Graham plops into the chair and nods at Lee as he makes himself comfortable. "Work your magic, buddy." 

Lee settles down on his stool while Richard takes the visitor's chair on Graham's other side. "I'm just going to do a quick little line first, so you know what to expect." His machine buzzes to life and he leans over Graham's prostrate form, bringing the needle to skin with a steady hand. The first line is never randomly chosen; the decision is part experience, part instinct, part superstition, and this time he starts with the ribbon. The moment the needle pierces skin, he swears he can see Richard flinching sympathetically from the corner of his eye. 

"Whoa, damn." Graham makes a face and laughs. "Yeah, I'm not exactly enjoying that." 

"The first minute or so is the worst of it, but yeah, you'll be sore for a bit." Lee smiles. "The lady is worth it, though, yeah?" 

Graham nods, eyes misting over and his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably. Lee is not surprised to see that sudden rush of emotion; if there is one thing he has learned from the men and women who've sat in his chair over the years, it's how deeply people are capable of loving. He's heard heartbreaking and uplifting stories of love and loss, from parents, grandparents, children, siblings, spouses, lovers and pet owners who sit next to each other on the public transport and walk past each other on the street every day, unaware of the common denominator that connects them. People in love generally make wonderful clients, and most days Lee enjoys listening to their stories, but today, with his ex's voicemail message still scratching at the back of his mind, he feels a twinge of mutinous jealousy. Yet he forces himself to smile. "Jennifer is your wife?" 

"Ten years next week," Graham says. "I'm getting this as an anniversary gift to her. I'm not really good with the words and the flowers and stuff, so... I need this tat to get a point across, Lee. No pressure." He follows up his last comment with a grin. 

"Don't worry, Graham, I've got this. Making clients and their spouses happy is what I do." 

"Maybe you should start charging triple and call yourself a relationship therapist," Graham jests. 

"I'm no therapist," Lee says, dipping the needle into the ink cap to refill. "Maybe a tattoo can make a good marriage a little better, but it can't save a bad one. Same with kids. You got kids?" 

"Yeah, a little girl, Allison. Ally. She's eight and the sun in my sky. My next tattoo will be for her." 

Lee trails his eyes up Graham's torso, studying the somewhat faded tattoo of a coat of arms on his shoulder. "What's the story with that one? Something to do with your ancestry?" 

"It's the McTavish coat of arms," Graham says. "I got it as soon as my folks would let me. That's a boar's head right there, and our clan motto. _Non Oblitus_ , 'We do not forget'." 

"That's cool. Family crests never go out of style, actually they're only getting more popular with time. It could probably do with some fresh color, though, just to make it pop again. You can come by the shop anytime to have it done. It would only take fifteen to twenty minutes and I'm almost always here." He wipes the excess ink away with a cloth and glances at Richard, feeling an odd desire to hear that soft, hypnotic voice again. "Where are you from, Richard?" 

Richard seems to startle from his thoughts, whatever they are, and Lee wonders what is making this guy so skittish. "Oh, uh... Leicester. In England. Nowhere near as interesting as Graham's Highland roots, I'm afraid." 

Lee smiles at him. "If you're bored, we've got a plethora of magazines that you can choose from." 

"I'm not bored." Richard fixes his gaze on Lee's hands, leaning a little closer. "I'm just..." 

"Making sure I don't maim your friend?" Lee laughs. 

Richard blushes. "Paying attention." 

"How long have you two been buds?" 

"We met in the London theatre circle," Graham explains, "which is nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds. It's a pretty small circle. My girlfriend at the time was an actress, and she was the one who introduced us. When I moved to the States, we lost touch for a while, but when Richard followed a few years later we reconnected. He's Ally's godfather, and he was the best man at my wedding." 

"Wow. And I suppose you were the best man at his?" 

Graham only chuckles, and Lee looks at Richard, whose face crumples in embarrassment. "I'm not... I'm not married," he stutters. "Which I'm fine with, personally, but Graham has taken it upon himself to try and fix me up. It's mortifying." 

_So he's single_. It should probably not have been Lee's first thought, but it is, and he quickly reins himself back in. This is dangerous territory for him, and he does not enjoy watching Richard flounder like this, even if Graham's gentle teasing is harmless. "What is it that you do in theatre, Richard?" 

Richard relaxes visibly, and Lee could swear he sees something resembling gratitude softening the tense lines around his eyes. There's a depth to those eyes, and Lee experiences an odd sensation, like vertigo, when he looks into them too long. It's like leaning too far over a bottomless well, entranced by the siren call of whatever mysteries lurk underneath the surface. One mistake, one poorly executed movement, and he'll fall in. He sees Richard's lips moving and realizes that he's not paid attention to the answer. Now it is his turn to blush. "Sorry, I didn't-- god, this is embarrassing, but I didn't catch that." 

Richard repeats the answer. "I'm a stage actor." 

"Really? No kidding. On Broadway or off?" 

Richard smiles. "Whatever pays the bills, really." 

"He's being modest," Graham interjects. "He did a twelve week run of Miller's _The Crucible_ at the Ambassador last year. Eight shows a week, and each and every one of them sold out. The billboards were all over town, you couldn't have missed them if you tried." 

Suddenly it clicks, and Lee gives Richard an open-mouthed stare of awe. His machine has long since stopped buzzing, resting idly in his hand, but he doesn't notice and Graham doesn't seem to care either. "That was _you_? I knew your face looked familiar, and now I remember why. It was projected all over fucking Times Square!" 

Richard shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Ah, well... These days anybody with a Twitter account can ride the fame train for a minute or so. I thought the promos were on the excessive side, to be honest, but they did help fill the seats night after night and that's what matters. I just wanted people to see the play and hopefully take something away from it." 

_Armitage_. Lee remembers the name now, remembers the bearded man on the posters whose brooding good looks and piercing gaze had jumped out at him every time he rode the subway. Somehow the image won't quite blend with the timid, soft-spoken man sitting across from him. "I wish I had seen that play so badly, but my boyf-- ummm, I work most nights and it just didn't happen. How intense were those twelve weeks, man? I mean shit, _John Proctor_. You must have been wrung dry from playing that role eight times a week, physically and emotionally." 

From the look on Richard's face, Lee realizes he's starting to gush a little bit, and he reminds himself to tone it down. "You know the play?" Richard asks. 

"Of course. I used to be in--" He catches himself and rephrases, choosing his words carefully. "I'm a theatre nut." 

"Really?" 

"Always the surprised reactions." Lee laughs. "Theatre isn't just for the elite, is it? Slumdogs like me can enjoy it too." 

Richard's face approaches a shade that would make the average beet jealous. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend. I'm just not familiar with-- I wouldn't have pegged you as the type, that's all. I thought you'd be more into... I don't know, rave parties and Metallica." 

"Maybe, maybe not," Lee says. "As far as I'm concerned, those things aren't mutually exclusive." 

"No, I guess not. I'm-- ah..." Richard shakes his head and looks down at his hands. "I should probably shut my mouth before I shove my foot up in there even further." 

"I don't mean to get all preachy on your ass, Richard," Lee patiently explains. "But people who look like me -", he indicates his own heavily tattooed arms, "still have to deal with a lot of misconception and negative stereotyping, 21st century or no. Please don't be one of the people perpetuating those stereotypes." He falls silent and glances apologetically at Graham. "Sorry for going off on a bit of a tangent there." 

"It's more than okay." Graham grins. "And for what it's worth, I totally agree with what you said. You can dig Shakespeare and tattoos at the same time. Let your freak flag fly proudly, man." 

Lee laughs at that, and even Richard cracks a little smile. Lee gets back to work, chatting conversationally with Graham while the tattoo slowly takes shape and Richard observes almost as attentively as Aidan. His stage work is not brought up again, to Lee's great regret; he yearns to know more about Richard's current and upcoming projects, his thoughts on Proctor and on this year's Tony nominees, among other things. A few times he looks up and starts to ask a carefully thought-through question, only to see that shy gaze scurrying away and lose his nerve. He inwardly curses himself for ruining a great opportunity to talk theatre with a fucking _Broadway actor_. 

_Well done, asshole. Good luck enticing him to discuss Beckett and Chekhov with you after you jumped down his throat like that._ Lee's mouth twitches ruefully as some old, repressed memories force their way to the surface and refuse to be pushed back down, settling just under his skin where they will usually fester and itch as a taunting reminder of what lies behind him: a road paved with poor decisions and fucked-up opportunities. Most days, he takes pride in the strides he's made, in the battles he's fought just to stay alive sometimes, but tonight, realizing that he's almost 35 and once again doesn't have a home to go back to, a thick blanket of despondency settles over him and he wants nothing more than to close up shop, walk into the first bar he sees and get high. 

He should probably call his sponsor first thing in the morning.


	3. Cardinal

Over the course of the next few days, Lee tries his best to do everything by the book. He gets in touch with his sponsor, faithfully attends his regular NA meetings and keeps his nose to the grindstone, going in early and staying late. When he isn't tattooing, he's in the back of the shop keeping the books, checking supplies or making calls to inquire after available apartments, even though Evie keeps assuring him that she is more than happy to share her tiny place with him for as long as it takes. Since the couch proved too small for him, they sleep together in her bed. Surprisingly, it hasn't been awkward. Evie is soft and huggable, and the platonic cuddles have really helped to keep the dark thoughts at bay. But it is a temporary solution, as are the boxes with Lee's belongings stored illegally in the basement of the shop. He has had no contact with his ex since the voicemail message that's still sitting on his phone; for reasons that escape his understanding, he cannot bring himself to delete it. It is the only thing he has kept hidden from Evie, who has watched the relationship unravel for months and is firmly in his corner, getting more vocal about her dislike for Luke as the days go by. 

"You know what pisses me off the most about this whole thing?" she says that Sunday morning. They are having coffee and cigarettes for breakfast on the roof of Evie's apartment building, looking out over the East Village shrouded in a grey morning haze. 

"No, but the look on your face tells me I'm about to find out." 

"I really hate that you are buying into Luke's bullshit about why he pulled the plug. Have you noticed how he is piling all the blame on you, complaining that you were distant, you were working too much, you didn't make him feel appreciated, and god knows what other crap he's been publicly spewing on Facebook?" 

"Well, it's true," Lee mutters, reaching for the ashtray. "I do work long hours at the shop, and we were hardly ever home at the same time. I knew it bugged him, and I did nothing about it." 

"Bullshit," Evie says again. She has been using that word a lot this week. "Luke works just as many hours as you if not more. Lots of couples have conflicting schedules but they make it work. All Luke ever did was complain and make you feel bad in the hope that you would cave, nevermind the fact that you singlehandedly got the shop back in black and we're on our way to become one of the busiest shops in the East Village. You know what? I think he was jealous of your success and talent, and that's why he cut you loose, because his ego couldn't handle it." 

"That's ridiculous, Evie. Luke has a good job, a fat paycheck and all the benefits he could want. Why would he be jealous of someone like me?" 

Evie snorts disdainfully. "Come on, Lee. I don't know what exactly Luke does to earn that paycheck and to be honest I don't give a fuck. But from what you've told me, I imagine that he spends his days in a space where people in grey suits sit in grey cubicles behind computer screens, thinking about numbers and profit until the clock strikes five, only to come back the next day and do it all over again. At the end of the day, nobody really knows nor cares who the hell Luke Evans is. But you -", she pokes him in the chest with her index finger, "you actually connect with clients. The human connection, sweetie, that's what I'm talking about. You listen to people, make them feel heard. Do you have any idea how valuable that is? There's people all over New York who show off their tattoos and tell their friends Lee Pace is the raddest artist on the scene. Do you think Luke has ever touched anybody's life in that way? Please." 

Lee smiles wanly. "I'm pretty sure Luke cares more about the paycheck than about touching people's lives. And besides, it's not like I'm contributing to a better world in any way. I don't fight crime, I'm not educating the next generation, I'm not working on a cure for cancer. I just ink people and send them on their way." 

"No. You're selling yourself short." Evie crushes out her cigarette. "Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that Luke doesn't deserve you. In fact, I think he was bad for you. I know you don't want to hear this, but I think he was controlling and unsupportive of your recovery, to the point of causing your relapse last year. That would not have happened if he'd actually given a shit about you." 

"You can't blame Luke for that," Lee protests. "He didn't buy those pills or force them down my throat. It was me who decided to buy them, with my own money, and me who said fuck to sobriety. He wasn't even there when I took them." 

"He drove you to it," Evie says stubbornly. "At the very least he enabled you, ignored the warning signs, and then acted all butthurt when you fell off the wagon. He made it all about him again. Sorry, honey, but that's the way I see it. And I'll tell you something else." 

"I really rather you didn't." 

But Evie is unstoppable. "I think you only stayed with him because of the security, and maybe the sex. No judgment from me on that score, because I've been in relationships like that myself so I know what I'm talking about, okay? I think you met him when you were insecure and afraid of going it alone and Luke is a big tough guy who made you feel, I don't know, safe. And you can bet your ass that he enjoyed being that guy. But then the moment you start building yourself up and your career takes off, he feels threatened because he is one of those people who need their partner to be 'below' them so that they can feel superior. If Luke was an upstanding guy who really loved you, he would have been proud of the progress you've made and encouraged you to do even better. But all I've ever seen from him is negativity. Good riddance, I say. You can do way better, Lee. And by the way, there's nothing wrong with being single for a while, maybe have a few casual dates to spice things up. Dating can be fun." 

Lee forces a smile. "Dating fun? In what universe?" He offers her a new cigarette and takes one himself, shielding his lighter from the wind with his jacket. "Nah, no new suitors for me anytime soon, lily bud." 

"Pity. I think it would do you a world of good, provided you pick the right ones this time. Just don't hole yourself up and grieve for Luke, all right? He's not worth it, and he's not wasting any time getting back into the game either, if his Facebook posts are anything to go by." 

The remark stings, but Lee swallows the pathetic sob that almost tears from his throat and drowns it in a big gulp of coffee. He's not ready to admit it, but Evie's blunt words have the ring of truth. He doesn't love Luke so much as he hates the idea of being alone. Somehow, that makes him feel like an even sadder excuse for a human being.

Evie leans over and kisses him on the cheek, rubbing the traces of lipstick away with her thumb. "Cheer up, sweetie, you'll be okay. You picked an apple that turned out to be rotten, but not all men are like that. You're going to meet one of the really great ones someday, someone who makes you feel like you can do anything. I'd bet my bottom dollar on it." 

He sighs and wraps an arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. "You know, Eve," he says as he kisses her forehead, "you almost make me wish I wasn't so damn gay." 

"I know," she chirps, burrowing her head against his shoulder. "You'd be lucky to have me." 

"Lucky like Aidan?" he teases. He knows for a fact that Aidan is smitten, but how Evie feels is less clear. 

Evie has the good grace to blush, which she hates because it clashes with her turquoise hair. "Aidan is kind of cute, but he's so freaking young, Lee. I just want to stick him in the oven until he's more of a man, you know what I mean? Plus, there's the whole 'romance in the workplace' dilemma. I don't think Ian'd be so thrilled about that." 

"Ian hardly ever comes by the shop these days. He wouldn't have to know." 

"Oh, he would know. Ian always knows what's going on in his shop. It's like he has a sixth sense or something. He'll know about those boxes in the basement as well, mark my words. Besides, he would know we tried to keep it from him and I don't want to put you in that kind of position, especially with Ian." 

Lee nods and squeezes her gently. She is absolutely right. A betrayal, no matter how small, would be a very poor way of repaying the man who rescued him from the gutter and offered him an apprenticeship on the sole condition that he get clean and sober. Even last year, after that unfortunate relapse, Ian had stood by him and given him his job back once he got out of rehab. He owes the old man nothing but his absolute loyalty and gratitude. 

A few days later, Lee and Evie arrive at the shop only to be greeted by Aidan whose shit-eating grin definitely spells trouble. "Someone has a new fan," Aidan sing-songs with a meaningful wiggle of his eyebrows. "You just missed him." 

"Please don't make me play guessing games, Aidan," Lee says as he gets on the computer to check his appointments for the day. "Who was it?" 

Aidan pouts ostensibly, clearly disappointed by Lee's lack of enthusiasm. "Richard." 

"There are at least a dozen of those in our client database. Could you be a little more specific?" 

"Christ, I don't know his last name. That actor chap who came in last week. Dark hair, British, looked kind of panicked the whole time he was here." 

Lee's head snaps up, a spontaneous response he knows he will regret the moment he sees Aidan's smug grin broadening. "Yeah, got your attention now, don't I? I figured you'd be pleased, from the way you were slobbering all over the guy." 

"Don't be a smartass, Aidan," Evie warns. The pecking order at the shop is not so strict that an apprentice can't permit himself the odd joke at the artists' expense, but Aidan is treading a fine line here. 

"What did he want?" Lee asks. "Surely not an appointment." 

"Nope, he left this for you." Aidan produces an envelope and pushes it towards him. "I told him you'd be in soon but he didn't want to wait." 

Lee picks up the envelope and turns it around; it's not sealed and there's no writing on it. It's not unusual for clients to bring little gifts of thanks, but Richard is not a client. For a moment he thumbs the envelope, then pushes aside the strange urge to get away from Aidan and Evie's watching eyes and flicks it open. Out comes a simple card with a short handwritten message. 

_Sorry. Signed, RA (tosser)_

_PS: I know it's late notice. Hope you can make it._

Tucked behind the card are a flyer announcing the upcoming premiere of the one-man play _Vincent_ at Cherry Lane Theatre, and two tickets. Featured prominently on the flyer is one of Van Gogh's self portraits in bright yellows and blues; inside is a short synopsis of the play and some other info, but it's Richard's name that jumps out at Lee. 

_"Richard Armitage, whose masterful performance in Arthur Miller's 'The Crucible' earned critical acclaim, stars as Theo van Gogh, the painter's grief-stricken younger brother."  
_

When Lee looks up, heart beating fast, he sees that both Aidan and Evie are looking at him expectantly. "Evie," he says, "what day is it today?" 

"Uh... the sixteenth. Why?" 

"Could you reschedule my appointments for next Friday night?" He tucks the card, tickets and flyer back into the envelope, away from their curious gazes. 

"What, all of them?" 

Lee grins and nods. He can't remember the last time he took a Friday night off, but it's a no-brainer. When an old flame comes calling, you answer the door, simple as that. And fuck, after the week he's had, he totally deserves this. "Yeah," he says. "All of them."


	4. Kingfisher

That Friday night, Lee arrives at the venue almost an hour early. Once he's shackled his bike to a lamppost across the street, he turns and takes a moment to contemplate the historical building. He knows Cherry Lane Theatre by sight, as it's nestled on the corner of Commerce and Bedford Streets in Greenwich Village, just ten minutes from the tattoo shop, but he's never been inside before. Hell, he probably hasn't been inside any theatre venue for at least five years. He takes the envelope containing Richard's card and the ticket from his messenger bag and takes a deep breath, trying to shake off his jitters before he crosses the street. The main door is open and a red carpet has been rolled out to invite people in. The posters outside - slapped with the text _PREMIERE TONIGHT_ \- bear the same likeness of Vincent that's also on Lee's flyer, and Richard's name features in capital letters as well. In the firmament of New York theatre, the star called Armitage is very much on the rise.

For the past few days, Lee has been spending most of his lunch and coffee breaks at the internet cafe down the street, digging up every shred of information on Richard's past roles that the net has to offer. He's printed out an insane amount of reviews and he's read them all, highlighting the standout passages with a neon marker. Some reviews are more positive than others, but almost all critics are unanimous in their superlatives for Richard's acting ability, his physical presence on stage and the truth he brings to his characters, especially John Proctor, who is widely considered to be his crowning achievement and breakthrough role. The more Lee reads about that performance, the more he beats himself up over having missed his chance to see it live.

_"... Armitage is an exhilarating stage actor, with blazing eyes and a righteous fury about him, as well as manifest decency."  
_

_"... impressive both when forceful and when nearly broken, Mr. Armitage gives palpable, sinewy force to John’s struggle."  
_

_"... a wonderfully deep, rich voice that brings authority to his character."  
_

_"... born to play John Proctor, with his craggy looks and capacity for repressed, then explosive, anger."  
_

_"... the gradual, painful thawing of relations between Proctor and his wife Elizabeth is just devastating... their intimate moments wrench the heart."_

And on and on it goes. The pictures Lee has been able to find online show a Richard that is nothing like the awkward, quiet man who so clearly felt out of his element in Lee's environment. They show a man who's stepped right off the pages of Miller's play and become flesh and blood, whether he is scowling menacingly, shouting from the top of his lungs, crying and cowering on the stage floor, or lovingly cradling his wife's face between his hands as he kisses her farewell. Lee has printed each and every one of those images and added them to his rapidly growing collection. To avoid questions, he keeps the file in a drawer at the shop rather than taking it home to Evie's, but he knows that his friends at the shop have noticed his preoccupation lately. He tells them that it's just the call of the theatre, an old passion resurfacing, but he can tell that they don't believe him. His thoughts of Richard - more specifically, of Richard's expressive eyes and the feelings gazing into them evoked in him - he keeps firmly to himself.

Upon entering the lobby, he's not surprised to find that he is one of the first to arrive. A waiter carrying a tray walks up to him and offers him a flute of complimentary champagne, which he politely declines, asking for a glass of water instead. Then he finds a chair to settle into and takes out the program he's been given at the door.

_"A monologue in two acts, 'Vincent' gives a heartrending account of Van Gogh's struggles with mental illness and poverty, told by the artist's beloved brother Theo, who supported him financially and emotionally all through his life. The play, set approximately a week after Vincent's death in late July 1890, is largely based on the more than 500 letters the brothers wrote to each other over the years, which offer a wealth of information on Vincent's life and work. Due to the nature of the play, the audience is kindly requested to switch off all mobile devices and to remain seated until the lights come on."_

Over the course of the next half hour, Lee watches the people trickling into the lobby and gradually filling up the room with noise. He sees couples, families, groups of friends-- he appears to be the only one who came alone, but he knows that is not the reason why people are looking at him. He never feels self-conscious about his tattoos, _never_ \-- but all of a sudden he feels hot and panicked at the thought that these people are looking at him and seeing him for what he is. He feels the almost irrepressible urge to make a dash for the exit, grab his bike and start pedaling as fast as he can, but instead, he flees into the men's room to splash some cold water in his face. As he slicks his hair back and stares at himself in the mirror, he forces himself to take a few deep, calming breaths until gradually his pulse slows down and his vision clears. Once he's sure that his dinner is staying down, he straightens his shoulders and walks out into the lobby, where the ushers have just started letting people into the mainstage area. He gets in line and is surprised when he is shown to a seat that is smack dab in the middle of the front row, just a few arm's lengths from the stage. By force of habit, he turns to the lady sitting behind him to apologize for his height and ask if she can see the stage all right. She gives him a wary look. "I'll switch with my husband," she replies curtly as she gets up to do exactly that.

The stage is clearly divided into two areas; on the left are an easel holding a canvas, a rudimentary stool and a table set with various props, including a palette, a raggedy scarf and a straw hat. On the right are a writing desk and chair. It's a simple but atmospheric set up, brought out beautifully by the historic brick wall encasing the stage on three sides. At the back of the stage are two large screens which for now only show the name Vincent in the artist's own characteristic hand.

It takes about ten minutes for the 180-seat room to fill up and the audience to settle. Then the lights dim completely and the sound of church bells mournfully ringing out make the last of the muffled conversations fall silent. Lee realizes he has goose flesh all of a sudden and holds his breath as the two screens show a series of Van Gogh's portraits, the stage lights dissolve up and Richard enters the stage from the right. Or rather, Theo enters the stage, because from the moment Lee sees him, before even a word has been spoken, the illusion is utterly real. The man on stage is well-dressed and has an air of sophistication about him, but the eyes scanning the crowd appear sunken and glitter with carefully contained grief. When he finally does speak, his voice is deep, his mouth stiff as if resisting the words that force their way out.

"Last week when we buried my brother, there was so much I wanted to say. I couldn't do it. You see, I simply couldn't speak. I didn't express myself. It's been a burden on my soul... what I wanted to say and I couldn't... I couldn't speak... I couldn't find the words." He shakes his head as if tormented by the memory, shamed by his own inability to honor his brother in words. "So, I thank you for this second opportunity and I'll do my best to tell you some things about Vincent."

For the next three quarters of an hour, Theo moves back and forth between the two sides of the stage while the two screens illustrate his stories with images of Vincent's paintings, sketches and letters. Lee isn't even aware that he is watching a performance; he is completely transported into a different world, into the mind of a grieving man who witnessed his brother's unstoppable descent into poverty and depression. Theo speaks of Vincent's flaws as well as of his strengths, of his immeasurable talent that went unrecognized, of the epilepsy that ravaged his physical and mental health, of the women who rejected him. He describes an artist who slowly lost the fight with that black demon of depression yet who painted the world in such bright, vibrant colors until the very end. The projections on the screens are perfectly timed, alternating sweeping sea views with narrow French streets, irises with sunflowers, cherry orchards with wheat and lavender fields. The sun is shining in all of them.

After a brief intermission, Theo takes the audience deeper into Vincent's depression. He never raises his voice, but his low pitch and gentle inflections are almost hypnotic and the audience is riveted, but no one more so than Lee, who can't take his eyes off Richard long enough to actually admire the paintings. All collectively hold their breaths as Theo describes how Vincent carried an easel and a gun into the cornfields one Sunday morning and shot himself in the chest, but survived long enough to see Theo appear at his soon to be deathbed.

"I sat by his bedside," Theo recollects, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. "I held his hands in mine. He looked up at me with those blue, innocent eyes. He had that same look as when we were children. He asked my forgiveness for costing me so much money through the years. Surprised that he was still lingering on, he said, _I've been a failure at so many things in my lifetime. I hope I haven't failed at this as well_. Doctor Gachet said, _Vincent, you have a strong constitution. The wound isn't that serious. Your chances of recovery are good_. But Vincent wouldn't have it. That stubborn mule wasn't going to have it! He was determined that at the very least he was going to succeed in his own death."

There is a long pause and Theo lowers his head into his hands, struggling to collect himself. One could have heard a pin drop.

"We talked into the night," he finally goes on. "About our childhood in Brabant. About the wheat fields and the orchards... that old stone barn. Late in the night, I felt his hands weaken, and his voice grew fainter. I sat on the bed and I cradled him in my arms. I kissed his face... He looked up at me and he said, _Theo... I wish I could die like this_. And then he closed his eyes and I felt his heart stop. I held him close. I didn't want to let him go, but... he was already gone."

After another long, deafening silence, Theo goes on to tell the audience how the minister would not allow Vincent's funeral service to be held at the church because he had taken his own life. By the time he gets to the closing statements of his eulogy, Lee becomes aware of the audience around him once more and realizes that many among them are sniffling, including the lady behind him who traded places with her husband. His own eyes feel pretty puffy as well, come to think of it, and once Theo's last words have rung out, he is the first to break the reverent silence with applause and get to his feet. Soon all 180 people are standing and clapping, and Richard has to come back three times to receive the plaudits before the noise finally begins to die down. At that last encore, his eyes slide over the front row and latch onto Lee's for the first time. A there-and-gone smile crosses his face and he raises his hand to his mouth as if he's holding a glass, making a quick tipping motion with his wrist. _Bar?_ he mouths.

All Lee can do is nod. He feels drained from the performance and he can't begin to imagine how Richard must feel after the emotional tour de force that is this monologue. He's also pretty sure that over the course of the last ninety-something minutes he's fallen head over heels in love with the man on stage-- whether that is Richard, Theo, or perhaps both of them, it doesn't really matter. It's a confusing feeling and he hopes that it will pass.

 _Thirty minutes_ , Richard articulates silently. Then he bows one last time, exits the stage and is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reviews I quoted are real reviews of Richard's performance as Proctor and the play Vincent is an existing play by Leonard Nimoy. The lines I used in this chapter are not my intellectual property but I'm not making any money off of them so I hope it's okay.


	5. Crow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to eucatastrophe__x for the suggestion! I hope this is true to how you imagined it.

With the play just ended, it's rush hour at the theatre bar and the place is crowded, a little too crowded for Lee's liking, but he manages to find a spot at the counter from where he has the lay of the land. As per usual, he's taller than anyone else in the room so at least it shouldn't be hard for Richard to find him. Being an ungainly six foot five string bean may not have made him popular in high school but it does have its uses now and then. 

He's getting looks again, though, and he notices several women giving him as wide a berth as possible when they walk up to the bar to order drinks. He can smile and try to make eye contact all he wants, he knows it won't make a difference; all people look at, all they see is his arms. As he feels his anxiety rising, he reaches for his phone and starts fiddling with it to distract himself. Evie has apped him a selfie of her pouting face in close-up, along with a message: _friday night @ the shop is not the same w/o you!! lol hope ur having fun! meet any hot guys worth the time? other than the big star himself ofc ;)_

It makes him smile, but he decides that a response can wait until he's actually found the right words to describe what he's experienced tonight. There are so many thoughts swirling around in his head at the moment and 'fun' just isn't going to cut it, nor does it feel right to take Evie's bait and talk about Richard in terms of a score not yet scored. She enjoys teasing him, but she knows that Lee is not, and never has been, a player; that's not to say that he hasn't had one night stands in the past, but even then it was never about collecting notches for his bedpost. He has always had other reasons for letting strangers get into his pants, reasons that may have seemed valid at the time, but-- 

"Can I get you anything?"

The voice asking that question is unexpectedly close, and Lee cannot help but respond like a man bitten. "Uh, not right now, thanks," he tells the bartender who has materialized as out of nowhere and appears to be looking him over critically-- then again it could be his old friend paranoia flaring up. "I'm just waiting for someone." 

To avoid the man's dubious look, he turns away and gazes around him, surveying the smiling faces of his fellow theatergoers and wishing he could feel like one of them, or at the very least blend in. But he knows that even if he did cover up his tattoos with long sleeves and a collar he would still stick out like a sore thumb. Seeing all these people chatting and drinking without an apparent care in the world makes it painfully clear that this isn't his world anymore, if it ever was his world to begin with. He breaks out in a sweat and it takes everything he has in that moment not to make a beeline for the door and go back to his own world. It may not be the world he had dreamt for himself as a child, but it's where he belongs now, for better or worse. 

Without realizing it or fully knowing why, he's zoned in on a small group of young women standing nearby, drinking prosecco and having what appears to be an animated conversation. It's only after a few moments that he realizes they're actually talking about _The Crucible_ , and he involuntarily leans a little closer to hear more, his thirst for information on that play is so strong. 

Just then there's a tap on his shoulder, and however light the unexpected touch is, to his frazzled nerves it's like being zapped with a taser. He jumps and spins around, one arm raised in self-defense. _"Hey!"_

Standing in front of him are two bulky men in matching navy uniforms. Security guards, he realizes a split second later, _shit_. 

 "Whoa there, sonny," says the one who touched his shoulder, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "No need to get all twitchy. We just wanna have a little chat, that's all." 

"Oh yeah?" Lee lowers his arm but not his guard, eyeing the two with suspicion. "What about? I've done nothing wrong." 

"Then we won't have a problem, will we?" The younger of the two, a stout fellow with a round face, widens his stance and hooks his thumbs behind the belt loops of his trousers. "Why don't you step outside with us for a minute." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Lee says. "We can have that little chat right here or we're not having it at all." 

The guards' overly friendly smiles are quick to vanish, and Lee feels adrenaline pricking at the back of his neck and traveling down along his spine. He knows that getting defiant will only exacerbate the situation, he fucking _knows_ it, but he's had to deal with this sort of crap a couple too many times before. 

"Right-o." The older guard, a man with heavy brows and a salt-and-pepper beard, puts on a no-nonsense face. "Well here's the thing, lad; it's been brought to our attention that you may have entered these premises illegally." 

"Oh, really?" Lee looks at the bartender, who is observing the goings-on a little too attentively. "My bad, I thought this was a public venue." 

"Don't get clever," Round Face snaps. "Loitering types like you are usually looking for some pockets to pick. But if your conscience is clear then I suppose you won't object if we search your bag." 

A small kerfuffle appears to have broken out near the entrance; there is applause, and Lee sees people crowding around a tall figure who has just walked into the bar. Who other than Richard, of course, the star of the evening. Lee curses inwardly. "Actually, I do object to that. I've done nothing but mind my own business and wait for someone." 

"And who might that be? A girlfriend? Boyfriend?" Round Face puffs out his chest and grins. "Or maybe an accomplice?" 

"Easy, Stephen," says his colleague, who then turns to Lee and tries a fatherly approach. "Now look here, sonny, we're not trying to make trouble, but I'm going to have to insist that you hand over your bag for inspection." 

Lee glances towards the entrance. It seems that Richard is taking some time to talk to other audience members and sign a few autographs, a convenient delay that Lee should probably use to get rid of these two dickheads. A part of his brain is screaming at him to just comply before this conversation gets out of hand, but the rebellious streak that has been known to get him in trouble before unfortunately comes out on top. "This is fucking ridiculous. Why am I being singled out and treated like a criminal? I'll hand my bag over when I've gotten a satisfactory answer to that question and not a moment sooner." 

Round Face goes a little red at that and juts out his chin in what Lee recognizes as an attempt to make himself look tough. "You don't get to ask any fucking questions here, you little punk. Now for the last time, give us that bag or we'll take it by force." He takes a step forward and reaches out as if to grab the bag, but his hand misses and grazes Lee's arm instead. 

Lee flinches and recoils instinctually. "Don't touch me," he hisses, voice rising in pitch as he jerks his arm away. "Don't you fucking touch me, asshole." When he takes another step back, he accidentally collides with one of the young women whom he overheard discussing _The Crucible_ earlier, and she gives a small cry of protest. "Oh god, sorry, miss, I'm so sorry." 

The situation is threatening to escalate, and the guard with the beard, who doesn't seem too pleased with how his colleague is handling things, makes an attempt to repair the damage already done. "Okay, okay, let's all calm down. You too, Stephen. This is not exactly helping." 

Lee pays no attention to the two guards, apologizing again and again to the girl until she gives him a tentative smile and he's convinced himself that she's not hurt. 

"What is going on here?" 

Lee wheels around at the sound of that already-familiar, smoky voice and sure enough, it's Richard who has spoken and who is standing right there with a darkly questioning look on his face. Lee flushes at the sight of him, partly out of humiliation and-- well, he's not quite sure what the other part is, but it probably has something to do with Richard's freshly-showered appearance and the way his slim-fit shirt falls open at the collar. 

"Bill, Stephen?" Richard insists. "Is there a problem?" 

"No problem, Mr. Armitage," Round Face says in a servile tone that triggers Lee's gag reflex. "We were just about to escort this young man off the premises for noncompliance. We have reason to believe he has snuck in without a ticket--" 

Richard raises an eyebrow in bewilderment and looks over at Lee, who finds that puzzled expression hard to bear. "Lee?" he questions gently. "I don't understand. Why didn't you just show them your ticket?" 

Lee shrugs. "They didn't ask." 

Round Face looks sour. The one called Bill has the good grace to at least show some embarrassment. "You know this man?" he asks Richard, rather redundantly. 

Richard wisely ignores the question, not taking his eyes off Lee. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," Lee mutters. The rush of adrenaline is slowly ebbing away, leaving tiredness and absolute mortification in its wake. He feels like the whole room is watching and judging him and he wants nothing more than to disappear right there and then. The only thing keeping him firmly rooted to the spot is Richard's worried gaze. 

"Well, it would seem that we were out of line," Bill grudgingly acknowledges. "Our apologies for the disturbance, Mr. Armitage." 

"I'm hardly the wronged man here, Bill," Richard says. "It's Mr. Pace you owe an apology to. Isn't it, Stephen?" 

Round Face manages to mumble an apology, but it looks like it's a bitter pill to swallow. Bill fares slightly better, and the two of them then slink away sporting slightly flustered expressions. By all rights, it should give Lee some satisfaction, but he finds he only feels empty. "I'm really sorry," he tells Richard, eyes fixed on the floor. "You were so kind as to invite me here and then I repay you by making trouble--" 

"No, Lee, please. It's me who is sorry." Richard is all kindness and understanding, it's in his body language and in his voice and in those incredible eyes that are still looking Lee up and down. It's too much, much too much for Lee, who just wants to crumble and disintegrate under the weight of that friendly gaze. "Are you really okay? Do you want to go have a drink somewhere else?" 

"No. It's okay." Lee realizes that he is hanging his head like a beaten dog and makes an effort to square his shoulders. "Maybe... maybe I should just go, leave you to your adoring fans. It's obvious that I don't belong here." 

"No, I'm not prepared to accept that." Richard smiles and walks up to the bar. "Do you drink Pinot Noir?" 

Lee shakes his head, his body still fighting the flight response that's pulling him towards the exit, away from all these people. "I don't drink alcohol." 

"Mineral water, then? Sparkly?" Richard raises two fingers at the bartender. "Make that two." 

Lee just stands there uselessly, numbly taking the glass of water he's offered and then allowing Richard to gently steer him to an available table by the window. It's a small table, and Lee feels Richard's knees brushing his as he slides into his seat. It sends a rush of heat through his body that surfaces on his face, manifested as a blush. 

"I'm so pleased you could make it," Richard says warmly. "I wasn't sure if you worked Friday nights." 

"I do, normally," Lee says. "But I got Evie to reschedule my appointments. I couldn't find any takers for the second ticket, though, so I returned it at the front desk. Sorry." 

"That's okay, I'm just glad you could get the time off." Richard's smile is genuine, and quickly burrowing its way into Lee's heart to permanently set up camp there. "Did you enjoy the play?" 

The question, however expected it may be, hits Lee head-on like a train; while he fumbles for an answer, he suddenly feels himself tearing up, both with emotion and frustration at his inability to adequately express how the play made him feel. He abruptly turns away to gaze out the window, blinking and swallowing, when suddenly the warm weight of a hand settles on top of his own, and somehow that grounds him again. Lee stares at their joined hands, surprised that he hasn't flinched at the touch. 

"Hey," Richard says softly, "it's okay if you don't have an answer right now. I understand that feeling, I've been there too. I can see that the play moved you, and that's enough. It was you who got up first, wasn't it?" 

Lee nods and finally manages to get some words out. "It was a privilege," he croaks, "a privilege to witness that performance, truly. You were fucking brilliant, Richard." 

It's as truthful and as eloquent a review as he can manage right now. It doesn't begin to describe the depth of his feelings by a long shot, but it's a start and the radiant smile Richard gives him in response assures him that it will do just fine.


	6. Goldfinch

"The moment I was approached," Richard says as he leans slightly forward on his elbows, "I knew I wanted to do _Vincent_. I knew it before I even read the script, really. It was exactly the sort of project I was looking for after that monster run with _The Crucible_ ; smaller, more contained, but still a role with plenty of meat to sink my teeth into. By the time I read the script and came in for my audition, I wanted the part so bad I could taste it. I wanted to challenge myself, find out if I could carry a play on my own. It was a terrifying yet thrilling prospect. I don't want to stick to the safe choices; I want to take on the roles that intimidate me a little bit, that will allow me to expand my range."

Lee nods emphatically, fully getting what Richard is saying. He's not sure how much time has passed since they started talking, but he has hung onto Richard's every word for the entirety of it. Aside from being a gifted thespian, the man has made some very clever choices over the years, carving a distinguished career path for himself that seems headed for some glorious horizon. "What did you do in terms of preparation?"

"Oh, god." Richard chuckles. "You name it, I did it. I read the entire published correspondence between Vincent and Theo. I raided the library and the internet for information on those two. I flew to Amsterdam to visit the Van Gogh Museum and see the works in person. I think they had security guards shadowing me after a while, I just kept coming back day after day like some crazy art stalker. I saw absolutely nothing of the city in those three days, just my hotel room and halls upon halls with Van Goghs. The _colors_ , Lee-- you can't imagine the exuberance of colors lining those walls."

Richard's eyes come alive with the memory of it, and in his mind Lee sees Richard wandering those halls, studying the paintings and trying to get inside the head of the tortured man who created them. "What is your favorite work of his? Do you have one?"

Richard thinks about the question long and hard. "Gosh, I should have a ready answer to that, shouldn't I? There are so many that stand out, for a variety of reasons. But in terms of my research on Van Gogh's mental decline, I guess the first one that comes to mind is _Wheatfield with Crows_ , one of his last paintings if not _the_ last. You know the one I mean? When you stand in front of it and see it up close, it really grabs you by the nuts." He takes a thoughtful sip. "What is yours?"

"I'm partial to still lifes," Lee says. "Not just the oil paintings but also the sketches artists do to improve their skill. You know-- bottles, fruit, books, furniture, everyday objects people have lying around the house. They prove that art doesn't have to have some intellectual or elevated theme. It can be as banal as you like and still have value. Van Gogh looked at his old boots one day and decided to paint them, just to see if he could. I love that idea."

"Yes, I see what you mean." Richard folds his arms on the table. "You are speaking from personal experience, I assume? Being an artist yourself..."

Lee freezes involuntarily at Richard's gentle prompting and quickly masks it with an attempt at nonchalance. "Sure. Don't all forms of art exist by the grace of practice? But let's not pretend that what I do is even close to being on par with Van Gogh's contribution to the world. Besides, it's your craft we're here to discuss, not mine."

"I don't agree," Richard says, giving Lee a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "I'm still curious as to how a tattoo artist from the East Village becomes enamored of theatre. I'm not trying to offend, just genuinely intrigued."

"It's the other way around," Lee says softly. "I loved the stage long before I became a tattoo artist. I was in my high school drama club. We staged a performance of _The Diary of Anne Frank_ once. I played the fussy dentist, Mr. Dussel."

"Are you a New Yorker born and raised? I think I hear traces of an accent, but as a foreigner I'm struggling to place it."

"I was born in Oklahoma, but I grew up in Houston, Texas." Lee shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "I moved to New York when I was seventeen, so I've lived here half my life. New York is where I call home."

Richard nods and is about to speak again when he is interrupted by a young blond man who has slunk up to their table.

"Excuse me, Mr. Armitage, sorry to disturb, but I was wondering if I might steal a few minutes of your time." The man flashes some identification and produces a tape recorder. "Dean O'Gorman, _The New Yorker_. Impressive performance tonight. Would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Press night is tomorrow, Mr. O'Gorman," Richard tells the reporter.

"I'm aware of that, but we are looking to post an online exclusive about your latest triumph first thing tomorrow," O'Gorman smoothly replies. "You have many admirers among our subscribers."

Lee can see that Richard is conflicted and volunteers, "It's fine, Richard, go do the interview. I really don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Richard's eyes are apologetic, and Lee doesn't doubt for a second that the guy would actually turn down an interview with _The New Yorker_ if he thought for a moment Lee would be offended. "You will wait?"

Lee nods and takes a moment to respond, touched by Richard's courteousness, so freely and willingly given. Perhaps the Englishman had sensed how close he had been to running earlier. "Yes, of course I will. Don't worry, I promise I won't get myself in trouble with security this time."

Richard laughs and gets up. "I'll be back soon, don't go anywhere," he reiterates before walking off with O'Gorman in tow. As before, the premiere crowd acknowledges him with applause; some even snap pictures with their cell phones. It makes Lee wonder if any pictures have been taken of him and Richard sitting together and how many of them will be circulating on Twitter before long. It's a not altogether pleasant thought. To distract himself from it, he reaches into his bag and retrieves the sketchbook he takes with him wherever he goes. He opens it on a blank page, selects a pencil and begins to sketch. He works thoughtlessly, without any preconceived plans or self-censorship, simply letting his hand do what it will. He draws in quick, rough lines, using his fingers to create a blurring effect here and there, with varying success. It takes him only a few minutes to fill the page; then he flips to a new one. Here he pauses, looks up and thinks for a moment.

On the table in front of him is the bouquet of flowers Richard had received from a theatre employee at one of his encores. It gives him an idea, and he starts sketching again, with more purpose this time. The bar and the people and their chatter quickly fade to background noise, the way it always is when he's drawing. This, he feels, is his natural state; this is where he can be still and serene and peaceful. As a kid he had been out-of-control destructive until an attentive kindergarten teacher suggested to his mother that a crafts table might be the answer. It was done the same day, and Lee can still remember today how Wasco crayons and finger paint had taught him to channel his excess energy into something constructive, something that garnered him praise rather than the usual tellings-off. It was a glorious feeling, only matched later on by the stage, the opportunity to get into someone else's skin and the thrill of the applause at the end. Both times, it had felt like finding a sense of purpose.

The sketch taking shape on the page is of a vase with sunflowers, loosely inspired by Van Gogh's paintings with the same theme. Unlike the illustrious painter, though, Lee sketches his sunflowers at the height of their bloom, wishing he had color crayons to make them pop even more. At the right bottom corner, he scribbles today's date, and after a moment's hesitation, two additional words.

_For Theo._

He's just putting in the final touches when Richard reappears and slides into the seat opposite him. "Sorry, that took a little longer than expected."

"It's okay," Lee says. "I've been keeping busy."

"I can see that." If Richard is trying to curb his curiosity, he's not doing a very good job of it. "Mind if I have a look?"

Lee makes one or two last tweaks, carefully tears the page from the sketchbook and hands it over without further explanation, watching anxiously as Richard turns the piece around and gazes at it. Once his eyes reach the short message at the bottom, he smiles in surprise, a slow but steady blush of pleasure spreading across his face.

"You made this for me? To keep?" The look Lee receives from across the table is incredulous and bluer than he feels equipped to handle.

"As a thank-you," Lee clarifies, "for the ticket. It really meant a lot--"

Before he can finish speaking, Richard leans over, bending his impressive length all the way across the table and kissing a stunned Lee on the cheek. Then he sits back again, blushing even more deeply, and it appears to be a contagious thing because Lee feels his face growing warm as well, skin tingling with the memory of Richard's lips and scratchy beard.

"Sorry," Richard says, flashing a crooked grin that has Lee's stomach flopping like a fish on dry land. "I hope that wasn't too naughty of me."

"No-- no, it's okay," Lee stammers, and it is, it definitely is, but he can't help casting a nervous glance about him. "I mean, I don't mind, but you probably shouldn't do that again. The theatre world is a gossipy place, and you don't want your triumph on stage to be overshadowed by rumors involving a tattooed younger man. Besides..." He bites his lip, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You don't want to make friends with the likes of me, Richard."

"Let me worry about what friends to choose," Richard says. "And let people gossip all they want." He takes another long look at Lee's drawing. "I will treasure this, Lee. There's just one thing missing, though. Something very important."

"What's that?"

"The artist's signature." With a cheeky grin, Richard slides the paper towards Lee. "Would you be so kind?"

Cheeks still glowing like hot coals, Lee scribbles an improvised signature at the bottom of the page. "It's really just a quick little sketch."

"It's a thing of beauty and I am going to proudly show it off to anyone who cares to listen." Richard eyes the sketchbook curiously. "Is there more of your work in there? Can I see it?"

Instinct prompts Lee to clutch the sketchbook more tightly and protect it from prying eyes; his drawings, however mundane, are like extensions of himself; sometimes he sketches to hone his skill and sometimes just to vent, on the good days and the bad. He can't remember the last time he let anyone look at his doodles - not that Luke ever asked - but Richard's questioning gaze is so kind and open that it's hard to say no.

"If you don't want me to, it's okay too," Richard offers, giving Lee an encouraging smile. "You can tell me to sod off and mind my own bloody business, I promise I won't be offended."

A chuckle escapes Lee's throat, his fingers gradually relinquishing their death grip on the book. He wants to trust the man sitting across the table - part of him already does - but is it really wise to set himself up for heartbreak again so soon? Does he never learn? Slowly and with some lingering trepidation, he hands the book over, holding his breath as Richard starts browsing and perusing the pages. There's all kinds of stuff in there-- New York landmarks, trees, eyes, dragons and other fantasy creatures, a few horses, a boy he'd seen walking his dog at the park, a pretty girl reading a book on the subway, some attempts at creating cool fonts for tattoos, and--

"Lots of birds in here," Richard comments, leaning down to study a little goldfinch Lee had jotted down while reading the eponymous New York Times bestseller a few months earlier. "A specialty of yours?"

"Sort of," Lee says. "We get a lot of people in the shop asking for bird tattoos, so I guess I have a bit of a rep for them."

"Yeah? How come?"

"I don't know." Lee shrugs, his tongue tying itself in knots as he struggles to explain. "Birds are the symbols of all that is good and free, right? They're beautiful and there's thousands of different kinds, all with their own unique characteristics. There's something about them I just really like."

Richard nods and flips to another page. "Do you have any bird tattoos yourself?"

"Yeah, I have a falcon on my back, a phoenix right here-", he indicates his left shoulder and upper chest, then turns his right arm to show Richard the written text spanning from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. "And there's this one."

" _Hope is the thing with feathers_ ," Richard reads aloud. "Is that from a poem, or..."

"I once did an essay on Emily Dickinson in lit class," Lee says. "The only A for lit I ever got. And that quote just stuck with me for some reason." He trails off, taking his arm off the table. Between showing his sketchbook and explaining his tattoos, he feels like he's rapidly on his way to spilling all his secrets to this man he barely knows, and he tells himself to slam on the brakes a little bit. "I'm not boring you, am I?"

"Not at all, Lee." Richard smiles at him, and Lee decides that he really likes the way his name sounds on Richard's lips. "I'll be honest, I've never had much of an interest in tattoos, but recently I've found myself thinking about them quite a lot."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

Richard's blush returns with a vengeance. "I suppose it's because I've been thinking about you quite a lot." He clears his throat, looking not entirely sure of himself. "Is it okay if I say that? I mean, it's the truth, but I don't want to creep you out with my very poor attempts at flirting. God, I'm so bad at this, sorry. Shut up, Rich." He trails off in a mutter and rolls his eyes at himself.

Lee's pulse picks up speed, laughter and hope bubbling up inside him. "It's okay, I'm surprised but I'm not creeped out or anything. Quite the opposite, actually. It's just that--"

"Don't tell me. You're seeing somebody?"

Lee shakes his head balefully. "I recently broke up with my boyfriend. Or more accurately, he broke up with me. What it comes down to is, we're no longer together."

"Okay." Richard's observant gaze trails over Lee's face. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

A fleeting smile twists Lee's mouth. "My thoughts on that change by the day. As of this moment, I'm almost positive it's a good thing. But I should give you fair warning, Richard; there are a few things you should know about me, things I'm not ready to tell you yet. And once you know them, you may want to run in the opposite direction as fast as you can."

"I don't scare that easily, Lee." Richard's gaze remains steady, suggesting that it's not just empty words. "Take your time. I'm okay with waiting."

"For as long as it takes?" Lee pulls his lower lip between his teeth. "Please, think carefully before you answer."

Richard does him the courtesy of thinking, for exactly 2.5 seconds. "Yes," he says. "For as long as it takes."


	7. Magpie

For the next two hours, while the bustle dies down and the bar gradually starts to empty, Lee and Richard continue weaving the threads of what has to be the most intellectually and emotionally stimulating conversation Lee has had in a very long time. They talk art and theatre and music and books and movies and relationships and sex, agreeing on many points and arguing on a few others, and Lee thinks to himself several times that he is being way too revealing way too soon, but then Richard isn't exactly holding back either. He confesses to Lee that embodying John Proctor eight times a week took a huge emotional toll on him ("I cried every single night"), that he is deeply insecure at heart and will lie awake agonizing and obsessing over one negative review among an avalanche of praise. He also shares that he has a strained relationship with his father, who disapproves of his lifestyle ("meaning that he wishes I were more like my brother, who is an accountant with a wife and two kids") but that he does get homesick for London sometimes and occasionally has cravings for fish and chips. Lee for his part steers clear of any and all references to his own family, but he does tell Richard about his apartment hunting and about the feelings of loneliness that plague him sometimes ("it turns out that many of the friends I thought I had were all my ex's friends, and they dropped me like a hot potato the moment he did"). 

He also tells him about the haphephobia, because it's probably the least damaging of his secrets and something Richard should know about if he's serious about dating him in the long run. 

"Haphephobia," Richard repeats slowly, tasting the unfamiliar word on his tongue. "So what does that mean exactly? The phobia part I get, obviously, but..." 

"It's a fear of touch," Lee says. "Some people have it worse than others, but we all experience some difficulty with being touched, physical contact and the like. Do you have any idea how hard it is to avoid being touched in a city like New York? Things like walking down a busy street, using the public transport, there's triggers lurking everywhere. Mine isn't too bad, though it's worse when I'm anxious, like when that security guard tried to grab my bag earlier? I thought I was gonna flip my shit." 

"Yeah, I noticed your reaction." Richard looks concerned. "God, and then I had to be an arse and kiss you like I had the right, really bloody clever that was. I'm so sorry, Lee." 

"No, Richard, it's okay." When Richard's guilty look does not abate, Lee takes a chance, reaching for Richard's hand on the table and taking it. "It was sweet, and I didn't mind it, honestly. You weren't to know, were you? Please, don't feel bad. Like I said, it's really only a problem for me when I'm anxious or when the other person is a complete stranger or just someone I really don't like, neither of which applies to you." 

"What about work?" Richard asks. "Touching strangers is what you do all day, every day, isn't it?" 

"That's different. When I tattoo, I'm in a professional mindset and I'm the one in control, which also helps. It's not touching that's the problem, it's being touched, and it all depends on the situation. When someone unexpectedly nudges me or bumps into me at the supermarket, I startle; but when I'm in a familiar environment with someone I am comfortable with, I'm totally fine. I need physical contact just as much as the next person. I'm a right cuddly bear with Evie, for example; no problems there at all." 

Richard nods thoughtfully, dropping his gaze to where their hands are still joined on the table. "So... this is okay?" 

"This is definitely okay." Lee squeezes Richard's fingers for emphasis. To lighten the mood somewhat, he dusts off his best flirtatious tone and adds, "Has anyone told you recently that you have very nice hands?" 

Richard's face reddens and he ducks his head, but not quickly enough to hide the shy little smile that Lee's words elicit. Richard off the stage truly is a vastly different man than the consummate actor who gave that breathtaking performance tonight, but they are both equally alluring. For a moment Lee allows his thoughts to take a naughty detour, wondering just how much of that stage confidence Richard would bring into the bedroom, until a flutter low in his belly warns him that it would be wise to back away from that pleasant little fantasy for now. 

"Uhm... not recently, no," Richard says, pulling distractedly at his earlobe. "Thank you, though. I grew them myself." 

It may not be the best joke in the world, but Richard himself seems so pleased with his wisecrack that Lee laughs anyway. God, he must have it even worse than he thought. 

"Any idea what caused it though, the phobia?" Richard asks. "Or is that one of the things you don't want to talk about just yet? Just say so if it is." 

Lee hesitates, then nods. "I'm not trying to play coy, Richard. I don't like talking about my past, because it brings up a lot of emotions and I've learned not to open up too soon, because that hasn't worked so well for me in the past. It's taught me to be careful with whom I trust." 

"I understand, Lee. Really, I do. You don't have to explain." 

_Is this guy even real_ , Lee thinks incredulously, and for a moment he feels weighted down by guilt for stringing Richard along. Once he comes clean about the drugs and everything else, he knows Richard won't stick around; he should just get it over with right now, when they can still make a clean, painless cut. Allowing this to continue will result in nothing but tears. 

But Richard's eyes are so warm; it's like basking in the sun after a lifetime of cold and rain, and Lee is not strong enough to give it up, not today, not just yet. He tells himself it's altruism - Richard shouldn't have to listen to Lee's sob stories tonight of all nights - but his true reason, he knows, is a purely selfish one and has everything to do with how Richard's company lifts him up. It's been a while since anyone looked at him like he was something special, or showed a genuine interest in his opinions and his art. It's incredibly addictive, and, well-- Lee is not afraid to admit to himself that he's more than a little starstruck. 

"Oh." Richard's voice cuts through Lee's musings, his face alight with a grin. "You'll be pleased to know that Jennifer loved Graham's new tattoo. I wasn't there for the big reveal, of course, but I had dinner with them yesterday and they were even more obnoxiously in love than usual." 

"Yeah?" Lee smiles and slowly removes his hand from Richard's, loath to break the contact. "That's great news. I'm sure they make a lovely couple." 

Richard nods. "Graham said he'll drop by the shop soon, to thank you personally and to get those touch-ups done as you suggested. So I guess I'm speaking out of turn, but I don't think he'd mind." 

"I'm surprised he wasn't here tonight," Lee says. "I kinda expected him to be." 

"He had other engagements this time, but he'll probably come tomorrow or on Sunday. Gray is a staunch supporter, bless him; he probably saw _The Crucible_ five times, if not more. And whenever I got lost in Salem and couldn't shake off Proctor, he was there to slap me back into reality and drag me to the pub to grab a beer. I think if anyone deserves the credit for helping me get through those three months and emerge somewhat sane, it's Graham. He was my crutch, literally." 

"You're blessed to have a friend like that." Lee starts to lift his glass to his mouth, only to realize that he drained it long ago. "I kinda want to come back for _Vincent_ a second time, too, if I can arrange it at the shop. Would that be okay?" 

"Of course it would be okay," Richard readily replies. "Come whenever you want. I'll have a chat with Jed at the stage door; just tell him your name and he'll let you in. I can't guarantee you a front row seat next time, but we'll figure something out." 

"Richard..." Lee's voice fails him unexpectedly, and he gives a tiny jerk of his head, clears his throat and tries again. "You don't have to do me special favors like that, I don't want you to get in trouble--" 

"Why would I get in trouble? It's a done deal, Lee." Richard glances at his watch. "I hate cutting this short, but I'm pretty knackered and tomorrow is a two show day, so... I should probably be heading off to my bed. Let's continue this another time though, yeah?" 

Lee nods, a little too eagerly. In his mind he's already started reworking his schedule to free up another night as soon as possible, but he'll need Evie's help and he knows she'll be asking questions. "I'd like that," is all he says. 

Lee waits while Richard gathers his things and they exit the now almost deserted bar, greeted by the waiter who's cleaning up for the night. When they step out onto the sidewalk, it's almost midnight, and as they turn to face each other with suddenly-shy expressions, Lee cannot help but wonder if Richard is just as reluctant to leave as he is. "That's my bike over there," he says pointlessly, gesturing at the only bicycle within sight. 

They cross the street together, Richard lingering while Lee unlocks his reliable old Giant. "So this is how you get around?" 

"Pretty much. I also use public transport, of course, but only when I have to. How did you get here, by the way? Where do you live?" 

"I have a flat in Chelsea," Richard says. "Maybe I'll hail a cab if I see one, but I'll probably just walk. Some fresh air will clear my head, help me sleep." 

Lee swings his leg up and over and gets in the saddle, wheeling the bike around so that he can look at the other man. The orange light from the streetlamp above casts stark shadows on Richard's face, exaggerating the sharpness of his features and making him look paler than he is. 

"You do look tired," Lee observes, feeling a stab of guilt. "I've kept you talking too long, haven't I? I shouldn't have monopolized so much of your time." 

"Don't say that, Lee. I'm a big boy, and I would happily have let you monopolize all the time you wanted if I wasn't so bloody tired. I was running on adrenaline there for a while, but there always comes a point after a performance when it all just drains out of me, and that's what's happened now. My batteries need recharging." 

"Maybe you shouldn't be walking home," Lee says. "Let me give you a lift." 

One of Richard's eyebrows crawls up to form a skeptical arch. "A lift? On your bike?" 

"Sure, why not? There's room on this horse for two. And Chelsea isn't that far. Evie and I go to work like this every day." 

"Does Evie weigh 14 stone like me?" 

Lee laughs and shifts his bag around to create room. "Come on, I know what I'm doing. This bike is indestructible." 

"The people who built the Titanic said she was unsinkable, too." Despite his misgivings, Richard has drifted closer, like a fish trying to decide if the worm wriggling on the hook is worth the risk. "You won't let me fall on my arse? Because that would drastically reduce the chances of you going out with me." 

As Lee laughs again, easily and without thinking, he feels something warm curl up and settle in the pit of his stomach and realizes with a start that it must be happiness-- a feeling he only remembers from too-long-ago. "You won't fall on your ass. And even if you do, I'm pretty sure I'd still go out with you regardless." 

"You would? Promise?" Richard grins and settles behind Lee, shifting on his perch until he's as comfortable as he's going to get. "I haven't done this in twenty years or more. Which probably means I'm too old to be doing it." 

Lee looks back over his shoulder. "Last chance to change your mind." 

"I'm not going to change my mind. It's pretty cramped back here, though." 

"Better hold on tight, then." Lee twists around more to meet the eyes Richard raises up to him, nodding in encouragement. "Go ahead. It's okay." 

Richard transfers the unwieldy bouquet of flowers from one hand to the other and carefully wraps his right arm around Lee's waist. Lee feels the weight and warmth of it through the cotton of his T-shirt, the presence of fingers digging into his side ever so gently, and wonders why, instead of an invasion of his personal space, it feels like something that was sorely lacking from his life until now. To avoid having to think about it any further, he kicks off hard and starts pedaling. 

After one or two blocks, Lee can only come to one conclusion and that's that Evie weighs considerably less than 14 stone. He has to stomp on the pedals pretty hard to create enough forward momentum for the both of them, but they are lucky in that there is not much traffic and he can cross intersections without having to brake. Once they turn north on Hudson Street, it's an almost straight line to the address in Chelsea Richard gave him. "Everything OK back there?" he asks over his shoulder. 

"Yeah, I'm OK." Richard's reply is soft. "I'm enjoying the ride, actually. It's like seeing the Village from a new perspective." 

They are both quiet for the rest of the ten minute ride and while it isn't an uncomfortable silence, Lee can't help but wish for some conversation to pull him back from the winding, thorny paths his thoughts are leading him down. Incredibly aware of Richard's very real, very physical presence behind him, he cannot resist imagining that same strong arm slung around his waist in a different scenario, those fingers grabbing his hips with more force and keeping him anchored as Richard thrusts in deep-- _Christ! Stop it!_

He is almost relieved when Richard eventually asks him to pull over at a five storey apartment complex within spitting distance of Chelsea Market, then gets off the back of the bike somewhat stiffly. "Ow, and this is where I feel I'm not eighteen anymore," he says with a self-deprecating chuckle, stretching his back gingerly. Lee imagines he hears vertebrae snapping back into place. 

"You all right?" 

"Oh yeah, it's just my arse that's not too happy with me at the moment. Thanks for the lift, though. That was... unexpected. In a good way." 

Lee wheels his bike back and forth, fidgeting with the gears. _Click-click-click_. "Thank you for the extraordinary evening. The play, and... after. I had a lovely time." 

"Likewise, Lee." Richard's response is immediate, his voice warm. "Would you mind lending me your mobile for a second?" 

Puzzled, Lee digs it up and hands it over. "Do you need to make a call?" 

Richard gives no answer, swiping the screen and smiling to himself as his fingers do a little dance over the keys. Once he's finished, he puts the screen on lock and hands the phone back to Lee. "Here," he says. "Now you know where I live and you have my number. Use that information." 

"I will," Lee promises. 

"Good. I'm counting on it." Richard shoulders his backpack and briefly turns back as he starts to leave. "Oh, you have several messages, by the way. May want to check them." 

Lee waits until Richard has disappeared inside and then unlocks the screen to open WhatsApp, grinning at the increasingly urgent tone of the messages Evie has sent him over the past hour, ranging from _hey whats up thought you'd be home by now_ to the most recent _ok i'm officially freaking out either you got lucky or you're in the hospital pls let me know which before i lose my shit and call the police._ He taps a reassuring message to let her know that he's not at death's door and that he will be home in fifteen minutes, tops. 

Her reply is instant, and accompanied by a picture of a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough. _omg finally!! pls hurry & help me with all this ice cream. been comfort eating for the past 30mins. your fault!_

He smiles and tucks the phone away, glancing up at the sleepy apartment building where a light has just gone on behind previously dark windows. He imagines he sees a shadow moving there, but that could just be wishful thinking. Slowly he turns the bike around and begins the ride back home, thinking of the blue eyes that may be watching him right now and realizing that for the first time in god knows how long, the thought of things to come sparks curiosity rather than fear.


	8. Sparrow

Over the course of the next two weeks Lee and Richard, organically and through no deliberate planning of their own, develop a routine built around the scaffolding of Richard's show schedule. By handling more clients during the days, Lee is able to take some nights off and see _Vincent_ five more times, and it isn't long before the theatre staff treat him like a regular. Jed at the stage door is the first face he sees when he arrives, and after a quick chat it's off to the main dressing room backstage where Richard is getting his make-up done by Adam, a scrawny lad who doesn't seem to mind having an extra body in the room while he completes Richard's transformation into Theo, especially once Lee takes to bringing Starbucks for the three of them. Then, after Adam has packed up and left, Richard and Lee usually have some time to themselves to discuss the script and ideas Richard has had to tweak and improve his performance, until a stagehand drops by to make the 'twenty minutes to curtain' announcement, at which point Lee leaves to find a seat and give Richard the privacy he needs to get in the right headspace.

Despite all this, despite getting to peek behind the curtain and seeing the mechanics of what goes into creating the performance, Lee is still able to enjoy the play as thoroughly as he did that first time; in fact, he only gets sucked in deeper, absorbing more of the emotion, more of the grief and despair that tears Theo apart on the inside, and above all, the love and affection for his brother that permeates his every word.

Unsurprisingly, the play has been raking in overwhelmingly positive reviews. _"More than a simple eulogy,"_ one critic writes, _"more than a declaration of love, 'Vincent' is an appeal to the audience to reassess one's preconceptions of mental illness, an invitation to think more carefully about the labels we apply, perhaps too liberally at times. The message is subtly delivered and never laid on so thick that it jars. A monologue, by its very nature, fails or succeeds by merit of its performer, and Mr. Armitage is more than equal to the task, consolidating his reputation as one of the most accomplished and sought-after stage actors of his generation. In his capable hands, 'Vincent' does more than succeed; it triumphs."_

By far the best review, though, comes from the hand of C.F. Lee of _The New York Times_ , a feared critic whose razor-sharp pen has made or broken many an actor's budding career. Lee has given the clipping a place of honor in his scrapbook and read the article so many times that he knows large parts of it by heart.

_"Armitage gives a deeply moving rendition of the quiet, grieving Theo, never more impressive than when he is struggling to make sense of his brother's mental illness and eventual suicide. The script presents the actor the gargantuan task of monologizing for the duration of two acts, but it is a job expertly done by Armitage, who proves himself a stage actor of Shakespearean caliber in bringing Theo - and through him, Vincent - to life. His is a commendable performance, of an integrity and generosity rarely seen on a New York stage today."_

The glowing reviews have given Richard an enormous boost of confidence and that translates onto the stage; Lee can see the change, however subtle it is, can see him slipping into the role of Theo with greater ease, like one would into a comfortable, well-worn coat. He also notices the various nuances that Richard experiments with - all within the boundaries of stage direction, naturally - like small changes in his delivery or gesticulations, and when asked about them afterward, he will tell Richard honestly if they worked for him or not. Richard listens to him attentively, and even more incredibly, takes some of his suggestions on board, as if Lee is even remotely qualified to influence the portrayal in any shape or form. But the unusual collaboration somehow works, and Richard's confidence continues to grow as he performs to a sold-out house night after night, never failing to draw tears from a fair percentage of the audience, not excluding Lee, who is usually sniffling along by the time the second act hits its halfway mark.

When the play is over, they will usually sit in the bar just like that first time and talk either until closing time or until Richard's after-show fatigue hits, whichever comes first. Even the bike ride to Chelsea has become part of the routine; in fact, those ten minutes of having Richard's arm around his waist have become something Lee looks forward to during the day and then happily dwells on during the lighter, but lonelier ride home.

As _Vincent_ 's second successful week draws to an end, however, an unexpected change in the routine occurs. It's been a particularly taxing two-show day and Richard, overcome with exhaustion, nods off a little on the bike, his head sinking sideways and coming to rest against Lee's back. Lee tenses up briefly, more out of surprise than anything else, but Richard senses it all the same, jolting awake and quickly leaning away as he mutters an apology. Up until this point, he has been very careful not to initiate physical contact without asking first, so Lee knows it must have been a slip of the mind. He also knows that Richard will agonize over it more than he should, and that thought makes him hate that stupid phobia even more than he normally does.

When he drops Richard off a few minutes later, neither of them refers to what just happened. As usual they take a few minutes to chat before parting ways, however it is Richard doing most of the talking tonight, as Lee finds his mind wandering, trying to figure out why this time feels different from the others. He knows that something will inevitably have to change sooner or later, that the status quo, however well it's worked so far, is only temporary. At some point, he will have to decide if Richard is someone he wants to trust and invite into his life. He knows that he should have other priorities right now than starting a new relationship; he is still homeless, still in recovery, still a failure in almost every aspect of his life, and dating will help solve exactly none of those problems, quite the contrary, it will only serve as a complication. Also, most importantly, it would simply not be fair to Richard, whose career is soaring and who doesn't need some loser, ex-druggie boyfriend holding him back.

But - and herein lies the rub - he is in love. That at least has been incontrovertibly established these past two weeks. He knows it from that galloping thing his heart does when Richard smiles or gets enthusiastic about something or blushes that way he does, from the quiet pride that surges in him every time he sees Richard on stage acting his ass off, from the way the memory of Richard's gentle, undemanding touches lingers on his skin far longer than would be considered normal. All these telltale symptoms point to one simple diagnosis, for which there is no easy cure.

He hears Richard sighing. "Sorry, I'm boring you, aren't I? I'm fairly sure you didn't hear a single word I just said."

"You could never bore me." Without meaning to, Lee trails his gaze down Richard's face, lingering at his mouth before wandering even lower, seeing the bob of his throat as he swallows. Lee gulps as well, feeling a sudden rush of heat and wondering how long it's been since he ran his tongue through an honest-to-god beard. Over the deafening roar of blood in his ears, he hears himself asking, "So are you ever going to kiss me or what?"

The moment he says it, he wants to kick himself for being so blunt and unsubtle, but the words are out and he can't make them unsaid. "I mean... ah... shit, that did not come out the way I thought it would. At all."

Richard, to his credit, manages to regain his composure after a moment or two, though his blush takes longer to fade. "Would you like me to? Kiss you?"

Lee takes a deep breath, then nods. "Yes," he says softly. "I've been thinking about it a lot, and... yes, I would like you to."

"Me too. I've also thought about it a lot, I mean." Richard looks down briefly and laughs, apparently at his own awkwardness. "I guess I've just been waiting for an invitation, or a sign that it was something you wanted as well."

"Well, do you need an even more painfully obvious invitation than the one I so eloquently extended just now?"

Richard smiles, moving slowly closer. "No, I suppose I don't."

Lee closes his eyes, his pulse fluttering in his throat when he feels that first hesitant, barely-there press of lips against his and Richard's long nose nudging his cheekbone as they adjust the angle. A sigh escapes him and he slowly unclenches his grip on the handlebars of his bike, blindly groping around until he finds Richard's hands and pulling them to his waist. For a moment they remain stiff and unmoving, then they slowly mold to Lee's form and become braver, fingers fanning out as they follow the curve of his hips and slide around to the indentation of Lee's lower back. Lee hums softly and opens his mouth a little further, nudging Richard's bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. His reward is a quiet moan and a flutter of warm breath against his mouth, and then Richard unexpectedly leans away and there's a rustle and a plunk that have Lee opening his eyes in confusion, worried he's done something wrong, only to see that Richard has dropped his backpack on the sidewalk and is already leaning back in.

 _Confident_ , Lee thinks as the kiss picks up where it left off, with one of Richard's hands returning to the small of Lee's back and the other cupping the side of his neck. _Tender. Mmm... Hot. Yes-- definitely knows what he's doing._ He opens up to Richard's gently probing tongue. _Thank god for that._

The kiss itself more than makes up for the clumsy prelude, stretching on in length for an irrelevant amount of time. The only thing Lee would change about it is the bike between his legs, which is suddenly forming something of an obstacle and curbing his freedom of movement. Other than that: perfection, pure and simple.

"Lee," Richard murmurs afterward as they stand forehead to forehead, his fingers stroking against the grain of Lee's hair. "I'd like to take you out on a date, if you're willing."

"Hmm." Lee smiles. "The 'D' word, huh?"

"Yes. I'd like to make it official. Would you be positively inclined to that?"

"Very. Dinner and a movie?"

Richard nods. "Unless that's too clichéd?"

"No, it sounds perfect." Lee lifts his hand to Richard's chest, fiddling with the zipper of his summer jacket. "When is this date going to happen?"

"Tuesday would work for me. I could make reservations at my favorite Italian restaurant. Authentic Sardinian cuisine."

"Sounds lovely." Lee's answer lacks breath; he's supposed to work Tuesday night, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on that. He's been successfully juggling work and pleasure so far; he'll somehow make this work as well. "Text me the details?"

"I will." Richard's hand moves lower, from the back of Lee's skull to his neck, gently rubbing the nape. "Can I... ah, can I maybe ask you inside for a cup of coffee next time?"

Lee closes his eyes and resists his first impulse, which is to back away, instead leaning against Richard more heavily. "I don't know what my answer will be," he says truthfully. "But yes, you can definitely ask."


	9. Eagle

When Lee and Evie arrive at the shop the next day, there's a familiar motorcycle parked out front-- shiny black, the fuel tank emblazoned with the airbrushed image of an eagle which Lee custom designed. Evie lets out a squeal as she yanks the shop door open and bounds inside. "Ian!"

"Hello, my dear." An affectionate smile lights up Ian's leathered face, and he comes forward to return the hug and kiss she rushes to give him. "How's my favorite girl? What in earth's name happened to your hair? It was purple the last time I saw you."

"Lavender, Ian," Evie chides affectionately. "I dyed it over a month ago. You don't visit us often enough."

"Or maybe I'm just too old to keep up with you young people," Ian teases, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Anyway, you don't want a fossil like me hanging around the shop all day, not when business is booming and clients are forming a line down the block to get in the door, all thanks to this rock star over here." Ian spreads his arms out to Lee, who squeezes him gently. "No no no, don't insult me with one of those wishy washy hugs. I may be old, but I'm not dead yet. Give me a proper one."

Lee chuckles and obeys, embracing his mentor with a little more force. "Good to see you, Ian. How've you been?"

"Oh, same old, same old." It is exactly the answer Lee was expecting. One of the things one has to accept about Ian is the veil of mystery in which he's shrouded; he comes and goes on his own time, never really talks about what he's done and where he's been while he was away, yet somehow he always seems to be well-informed on whatever is going on at the shop and in his employees' lives. The few things Lee does know about Ian have been painstakingly gathered over the course of almost fifteen years, not counting the fact that he blazed a trail in the seventies as the first openly gay East Village-based tattoo artist, because that has been reported ad nauseam by local rags and tattoo magazines. Lee knows for a fact that Ian is not from New York originally, but he has no clue where the man came from and when, or even how old he is. There is an elusive agelessness to him that Lee stopped trying to make sense of a long time ago.

"I won't stay long." Ian raises his hands in response to Evie's sound of protest. "Could you make me a cup of Darjeeling, Evie love, while Lee helps me with something in the back?"

"Sure thing. Espresso macchiato for you, Lee?"

"Thanks, Evie. Make it a double. Busy day ahead."

As Lee follows Ian across the shop floor to the back office, he resigns himself to the inevitable heart-to-heart that lies ahead. For a man who's done such a good job of keeping his private life under wraps, Ian can be surprisingly transparent sometimes; and sure enough, the moment they're out of Evie and Aidan's earshot, he cuts right to the chase. "So how are you doing, Lee?" he asks, blue eyes filling with concern as they slide attentively over Lee's face, taking its measure.

"Doing okay, all things considered." Lee shrugs. "Me and Luke broke up, but I'm sure you already know that, just like you're probably already aware that I'm staying at Evie's until I get my own place."

"Are you sober?"

Lee expected this question, and is glad that he can answer it truthfully. "I won't deny that there have been moments of temptation, but I'm in touch with my sponsor and I have myself under control. I'm not going to relapse this time."

"Good. I believe you." Some of the worry drains from Ian's face. "Now, about those boxes in the basement..."

"Yeah... sorry about that." Lee shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "It's only temporary, Ian, I swear. I would've squared it with you if I knew how to reach you. Evie's place is tiny and storage is fucking expensive--"

"Lee, Lee, it's okay." Ian holds up his hands. "I'm not going to kick you to the curb for a few boxes. Use the basement as long as you need."

Lee exhales slowly. "Thanks. That's a weight off my shoulders."

"Frankly, I was surprised that your earthly possessions take up so little space. Luke hasn't done you a dirty one, has he? Did he give back everything you're owed?"

"Dunno. Haven't checked yet."

"Well, do," Ian urges, "before any family heirlooms show up on eBay."

Lee gives a little chuckle at that. "Please, Ian. I appreciate how eager you all are to take my side in this mess of a situation, but Luke is hardly that petty."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Ian crosses his arms. "You're not thinking of going back to him, are you?"

"No." As before, Lee is relieved that he can give an honest answer; Ian would know it if he lied. "My sponsor thinks that that would be a significant step backwards, and I agree. It's the future I'm looking to."

"Hmm, good. And how does this new man you're reportedly seeing fit into that vision?"

"What the--" Lee flushes, every hope of playing it casual going straight out the window. "How the fuck do you know about that? Has Aidan been telling tales?"

"I took a glance at last week's roster and noticed you've been taking quite a few nights off," Ian says calmly. "This is not usual for you, so I made a mention of it, at which Aidan volunteered that you've been making friends at the theatre recently, more specifically with one particular gentleman." Ian smiles. "Have you told your sponsor about him, too?"

Inwardly cursing Aidan with every fiber of his being, Lee grits his teeth and shakes his head.

"Why not, Lee?"

"Because I know exactly what he would say," Lee reluctantly replies, "and because I fully expect Richard to run for the hills once I tell him all my dirty secrets."

"Why?"

Lee jerks his shoulders. "Because I'm a liability, obviously. He's on his way to becoming one of the really big names on Broadway, if he isn't one already, whereas I-- do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Yes, and I'm calling bullshit. You're a good person, Lee, and good people deserve good things happening to them. If this guy is someone you could see yourself being happy with, then any past transgressions shouldn't mean shit. But the question you have to ask yourself is: do you like him for who he is, or for what he represents?"

Lee frowns, unsure if he's understanding Ian right. "What he represents...?"

"The stage. Childhood dreams. Missed opportunities."

The words hit a raw nerve; Ian is one of the very few people who know about Lee's past in theatre, and since they have an unspoken, long-standing agreement not to talk about it, this comes out of left field. "That's kinda harsh, don't you think?"

"Maybe," Ian says. "Still, it is something I'd advise you to ponder. I'm not looking to tear open old wounds, Lee, because I care for you as a son, and I think you know that. You have come such a long way since I first met you and I'm so proud of you for that. Of course I don't begrudge you these outings to the theatre, if you're sure they're what makes you happy. Just... be sure of this man, Richard, before you lose your head, okay? Don't get pulled into his world only to get lost in there, and don't forget how important you are to the shop." Ian's expression of concern changes mercury-quick into one of mischief. "I need my star artist to be at the top of his game."

A wan smile is all Lee can manage in response. He could really use that double espresso macchiato right about now, but the telepathic waves he's desperately sending out to Evie don't seem to be working. He wants to tell Ian that there is nothing to worry about, that he isn't going to lose his head to theatre - or Richard - and that none of it will follow him into the workplace, but it would be a lie, all of it. And so he says nothing.

***

The first moan escapes Lee unbidden, riding out on an exhalation before he can rein it back in. The next one already feels more natural, more right, as he burrows his hands more deeply under Richard's jacket, warming them at the other man's body and wondering how long it's been since he's made out on a public sidewalk like this, with his lips chafed from kissing and his heart pounding against his ribcage like it will explode. Scrabbling at the back of his mind is the vague memory of a well-meaning voice warning him against something, something quite important, but he can't for the life of him remember what it was, and quite frankly he doesn't give a shit.

"Did you have a good time tonight?" Richard asks breathlessly, leaning away a bit to gaze into Lee's eyes. "Did you like the movie?"

Lee nods, though in all honesty he has a more vivid recollection of Richard sitting next to him smelling divine than he does of the action flick they've just seen. "It was lovely. Dinner was lovely. I had a lovely time." He cringes, then laughs at his own lack of vocabulary, and Richard chuckles along with him, gently tracing Lee's cheekbone with his thumb before sliding down the curve of his jaw and ending at his mouth. The look of awe in his eyes is plain as day, and Lee can't take it, can't bear this man looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars with it, so he leans back in and reclaims Richard's mouth. He sucks softly on his bottom lip and indulges a weakness by mouthing his facial scruff, tasting faint traces of salt from the popcorn they shared. He gets distracted then, starts leaving kisses all over Richard's face, closing his eyes one by one with a gentle brush of the lips, and Richard stands there as if enchanted, breaths coming deep and slow.

Eventually, though, the enchantment runs its course and Richard opens his eyes again to reveal a look of heated fondness so intense that it kindles a fire in Lee's belly. "So... how about that coffee?" It comes out hoarsely, and Richard takes a moment to clear his throat. "I'd prefer to take this someplace where I know my neighbors won't be watching."

Lee snorts out a breathless laugh, nearly choking on nerves as he blurts his reply, "Coffee sounds great."

"Yeah?" Richard smiles, was apparently expecting a different answer, but thankfully doesn't make a big deal out of it, doesn't ask if Lee is sure. He simply takes his hand and guides him up the stairs as he digs for his keys. Lee follows on buckling legs, smiling at some comment Richard makes without really hearing it. The voice at the back of his mind is still there, but its protests are growing more and more faint by the minute, and by the time the elevator doors slide open with a ding to reveal an empty, dimly-lit hallway on the third floor, they've been silenced completely.

"So, this is me," Richard says as he slides the key into his front door lock and lets Lee in. "Please don't mind the mess."

As he steps into Richard's lair, Lee is struck by how homely and lived-in it is. For some reason he had expected Richard's taste to be more modern and minimalistic, but the one-bedroom apartment with open plan kitchen is actually quite cozy, with mismatched furniture looking like it's been partly inherited, partly purchased at IKEA and thrift stores and then casually thrown together. The mess Richard warned about is actually not that bad, consisting mainly of books haphazardly lying around, a heap of clean laundry waiting to be folded and the odd saggy teabag. Lee has definitely seen worse. "I like your place," he comments, as he finds himself automatically pulled to Richard's collection of books lining one of the walls. "It's... comfy. I feel welcome here."

"You are. Welcome here." Richard shrugs off his jacket and places it over the back of the sofa, then goes around the room switching on a few lamps. "I'm a bit of a recluse when I'm not working, so home is important to me."

"Oh my god." Lee turns around, smile broadening when Richard directs a questioning gaze at him. "You sorted your books by author. Alphabetically. You're actually that guy."

Richard sends him a sheepish grin. "Is there any other way to do it?"

Lee skips right to the 'M', his finger tracing the spines until he finds it-- a dog-eared, tortured-looking copy of _The Crucible_. "May I?"

"Of course, make yourself at home." For a moment Richard looks like a little boy lost, unsure what to do with his hands. "I, uh, I'll go put on the coffee."

The book falls open in Lee's hand of its own accord, so cracked from use is the spine, and he gasps softly seeing the abundance of notes scrawled in the margins, words underscored for emphasis, entire passages highlighted with a marker. It's only at second glance that Miller's words come into focus and he recognizes the scene as one where Elizabeth addresses her husband's infidelity.

_ELIZABETH: John, with so many in the jail, more than Cheever's help is needed now, I think. Would you favor me with this? Go to Abigail.  
_

_PROCTOR: What have I to say to Abigail?  
_

_ELIZABETH (delicately): John-- grant me this. You have a faulty understanding of young girls. There is a promise made in any bed-_

_PROCTOR (striving against his anger): What promise!  
_

_ELIZABETH: Spoke or silent, a promise is surely made.  
_

Lee flips the page, lips moving slightly as he mouths the words that come flooding back to him. _  
_

_PROCTOR: When will you know me, woman? Were I stone I would have cracked for shame this seven-month!  
_

_ELIZABETH: Then go and tell her she‘s a whore. Whatever promise she may sense-- break it, John, break it._

Lee stops reading then, and as he stands there staring at the page, filled with print and Richard's handwritten, thoughtful observations, Ian's words ring clearly in his mind.

_Do you like him for who he is, or for what he represents?_

Lee slides the book back into its proper place and turns around to see Richard standing at the kitchen counter, scooping measured spoonfuls of ground coffee into a filter.

"You still have a drip brewer?" Lee asks as he walks up to him. "Haven't seen one of those in a while."

"It does the job adequately enough." There's a barely noticeable hitch in Richard's breath when Lee moves in to stand behind him, their bodies almost touching but not quite. "You have to remember that we English are genetically engineered to be very fussy about tea, but when it comes to coffee, our palates-- uh..." He trails off when Lee leans in the final inches, slipping his arms around Richard's waist and pinning him against the counter. A shudder runs the breadth of his shoulders when Lee's mouth nuzzles the back of his neck. "Lee... fuck-"

"Never mind the coffee," Lee murmurs as he noses Richard's hairline and inhales the scent, an intoxicating blend of shampoo and the faint bitterness of sweat. It's the smell of a man, unmistakably, and Lee feels the responding rush of blood to his groin, his cock not quite hardening yet but giving an interested twitch.

"Lee." Richard braces his hands on the countertop, taking a deep, steadying breath. "I don't want to appear a hypocrite, because I asked you to come up and I would be lying if I said I didn't have hopes for tonight, but you owe me nothing, okay? You don't have to put out to keep me interested."

Lee stands back a little, just enough to create space to turn Richard around before backing him up against the counter and capturing his lips in a heated kiss that swallows the sounds of their moans. "It's okay," Lee whispers, insisting, "I want to. I want this. My lead though, is that okay?"

Richard nods, chest rising and falling noticeably as he breathes through slightly parted lips. He is so beautiful that Lee has to take a moment just to stare at him, relieved to realize that all he sees in this moment is Richard-- not Proctor, not Theo, just Richard. And he wants him all the more for it. _Maybe I like both-- the actor and the man. Would it be so terrible if I liked both?_

"Come," he says, tugging at Richard's hand and guiding him to the plump sofa, the worn, faded patch in the fabric telling him exactly where Richard usually sits. He turns around to kiss him again before gently pushing at his shoulders. Richard gets the hint and plops down heavily. Lee follows immediately, dropping to his knees on the floor and bracing his hands on either side of Richard's hips as he pushes himself up and leans over Richard's chest to kiss him, slowly and attentively.

"God, Lee, you're--" Richard sighs when Lee gently sucks on his bottom lip, and he lifts his hands only to let them hover awkwardly in mid-air. "Please, can I--"

Lee nods consent, taking a moment to rub their beards together before dipping lower to kiss Richard's neck, sucking at the flesh and feeling the reverberations of Richard's moan against his lips. The sound resonates in his belly as well, sending tendrils of want down into his cock, now definitely filling out and beginning to strain against the inside of his fly. Curious, tempted to seek confirmation, he angles his body downward and grinds his hips against Richard's, drawing a guttural cry from the other man that ends on a choke when their hard cocks align and rub snugly together. The friction is exquisite, and Lee repeats the movement to chase down the heat, biting down on Richard's neck hard enough to leave a mark.

" _Christ_ ," Richard whimpers, reaching down with long arms to grab at Lee's ass. "So good, Lee, fuck-" The breathlessness in his voice stokes the fire in Lee's belly; he feels wanted, powerful, and damn it's a good feeling. Emboldened, he worms his hand between their bodies and cups Richard's erection through his trousers, feeling it jump and strain up to meet his touch. He'd planned to take out both their cocks and jerk them off in one hand, but now he discards that idea and decides to take it one step further. He sits back and reaches for Richard's belt buckle, staring up at his face as he opens it deftly. Richard stares back, slack-jawed and panting, as Lee threads the belt through the loops and gets rid of it altogether, then goes for the button and the zipper. Richard pushes his hips up to make it easier for Lee to get to what he's after, and within moments Lee has his cock out, tucking the waistband of his snug-fitting boxer briefs beneath his balls. The scent of musk and male arousal is intoxicating, and Lee leans closer to that beautiful, proud cock, the sight of the shining wetness on top triggering a flood of saliva into his mouth. He swipes his thumb across the head and brings it to his mouth to lick the stickiness off, slowly, savoring, staring into Richard's eyes as he does so. Richard's mouth falls open on a silent moan and a shudder runs the length of him, cock twitching in Lee's hand.

Lee starts by dragging the flat of his tongue along the underside, holding the shaft steady as he licks from balls to tip, where the smell and taste of Richard are strongest and more precome is welling up at the slit. Richard's hands open and close where they lie at his sides, scrabbling at the sofa which offers so very little to hold on to. "Lee," he rasps, voice rough and deep, and Lee looks up at him from between his legs, questioning.

"Would you..." Richard licks his lips, fingers plucking at the fabric of Lee's sleeve. "Will you take it off, your shirt? I want to see. Please."

They stare at each other for a long, breathless moment, and it occurs to Lee how bizarre this is, him even having to think about the shy request while he sits here with his face hovering over the other man's cock. He eventually nods and reaches up to grab the back of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it on the floor next to him. He can hear Richard exhaling and looks up at him, sensing the weight of Richard's gaze as it slides across his shoulders and chest. He feels utterly exposed, like he's just laid bare his entire life to be read at a glance, even though he knows that Richard doesn't speak the language.

"They're beautiful, Lee." Richard reaches out and tentatively touches the fiery head of the phoenix, one of Lee's favorite and most meaningful tattoos. When he lifts his eyes to meet Lee's, they're spilling over with adoration, and he quietly adds, "You. You are beautiful."

Lee blushes - perhaps with embarrassment, pride, relief or a combination of all three - but finds he can't hold that intense gaze for very long, so he leans down to resume what he was doing with more purpose, gripping the base of Richard's shaft with sure fingers and swirling his tongue around the head before opening his mouth and starting the slow descent. Richard's fingers tighten on his shoulder but Lee blocks out the distraction, focusing on relaxing his jaw and breathing through his nose as he sinks down on Richard's cock, the musk and throb of him so heady that he feels his own pants growing a little tighter still. He keeps going until his mouth reaches his hand and then starts working the two of them together, experimenting with pressure, suction and speed to figure out what Richard likes. He keeps his ears pricked up for every gasp, every curse that spills from Richard's lips and he pursues them like a hound on the scent, determined to make this as good as he can. He's been told he gives great head and right now, with Richard keening above him, he takes pride and enjoyment in that skill.

"Oh my god, Lee, you look so--" The sentence cuts off into a loud moan, and Lee can feel Richard's thighs tensing, his fingers wandering from his shoulder to his throat, briefly stroking his cheek before sliding around to gently cup the back of his head. "Can I-- Is this okay?"

Lee slides off, taking a moment to catch his breath, swallow the excess spit and wipe his mouth. "Yeah, it's fine," he says, voice pitched low. "Just... let me do the work, okay?"

Richard nods, keeping his hand open and soft on the back of Lee's skull as he swallows him down once more, more quickly this time, and starts bobbing his head up and down. It takes him a moment to realize that the humming sound he hears is coming from his own throat, mixed with the slick, undignified sounds his mouth makes as he sucks and swallows around Richard's length, growing louder and filthier the faster he moves. Fuck, it's been a while since he went to town on a cock like this and enjoyed himself the way he is doing now.

"Look at me," Richard suddenly gasps out, and Lee stills, the head of Richard's cock tucked into his cheek as he looks up. Richard traces its shape with an awed expression on his face. "This is going to be over soon," he warns, cupping Lee's jaw with trembling fingers. "Are you sure you want to--"

Lee nods and closes his eyes, reaching down with his free hand to clumsily unzip himself and take out his cock. With the other hand he cups Richard's balls, feeling their weight as he rolls them between his fingers. He wants nothing less than to have his mouth flooded by Richard's come, in fact he thirsts for it, so while he kneads Richard's balls with one hand and jerkily strokes himself with the other, he starts moving again, alternately taking Richard as deep as he can and sucking hard on the way back up. He is giving it his all, and Richard admirably holds out for five and a half strokes before his face crumples and then freezes in an open-mouthed expression of pleasure and he comes with a single long, low grunt, hand twitching weakly on the clammy nape of Lee's neck. Lee is moaning as well, and once Richard has spilled his last drop he carefully pulls off to take in Richard's wrecked expression. He doesn't swallow right away, savoring the salty taste of come clinging to his tongue and the walls and roof of his mouth. Richard whimpers softly and brings his hand from the back of his neck to the front, lightly stroking the length of his throat. Lee swallows and switches hands on his cock, replacing the awkward left with the dominant right. But as badly as he needs the completion, he's not too far gone to be practical. "I don't want to make a mess on your carpet," he wheezes out as he works his arm faster.

Richard tugs Lee up by the shoulders, bringing them face to face. "Come on me," he says, pulling up his shirt to reveal more belly and a toned lower chest. He reaches for Lee's cock, a wordless offer to take over, and Lee lets him, burying his face against the crook of his neck as a few smooth, firm strokes do the job; within moments he's gone, his come pulsing white and thick over Richard's stomach. When he too is spent, Richard lets go and gently wraps his arms around his shoulders, effectively drawing him into a full upper-body embrace. Lee can feel his come cooling between their bellies, knows he should probably find something to wipe it off with, but he simply doesn't have it in him to get up. A sigh escapes him and a good kind of weariness settles in his bones, making his limbs feel heavy.

"Would you like to stay the night?" Richard eventually asks, the question nothing more than a low murmur uttered against Lee's temple.

Lee doesn't lift his head from where it's nestled against Richard's shoulder, enjoying the way Richard's voice rumbles below his cheek and against his ear. A phrase springs to the forefront of his mind and the moment it does, he already says it. "There is a promise made in any bed."

There is a brief, surprised silence, and then, a soft chuckle preceding the words that should flow from the previous ones as naturally as though they were part of Richard's DNA. "What promise?"

"Spoke or silent, a promise is surely made."

"No promise," Richard tells him, following the curve of Lee's shoulder with his fingers and tracing some of the lines and patterns that he encounters. "Just a bed, and us sleeping in it, and some breakfast in the morning. Tell me... How do you feel about baked beans on toast?"


	10. Peacock

Lee wakes up with a little jolt, feeling strangely disoriented without really knowing why. But eventually, after a few moments of confused blinking and eye rubbing, it dawns on him that this isn't Evie's apartment or bed, and the six-foot-something body pressing against his from behind definitely isn't Evie's either. It's been a long time since he woke up like this, in a sleepy tangle of limbs, two bodies having sought each other out in sleep. Luke was never all that cuddly to begin with, and after the perfunctory sex of the last months they'd usually curled up on their own halves of the bed with as much space between them as possible.

Richard, though, is very much on Lee's side of the bed and seems to still be soundly asleep, his breathing even as his lips release little puffs against Lee's neck. His arm is flung across Lee's waist, loose but heavy, and with them both naked except for their boxer briefs, Lee is surprised that he feels as comfortable as he does. In fact, there is a certain domestic bliss to it all, dozing in Richard's embrace with the grey morning light filtering in through the blinds, casting shadowy stripes on the bed and on their legs. The bedroom window is slightly ajar, letting in the distant sounds of early traffic and shutters rattling as shop owners arrive for work. This is what New York sounds like in the morning.

Lee carefully begins to stretch a little, joints popping as he flexes morning-stiff muscles to get the blood flowing. He doesn't realize he's involuntarily pushing his ass against Richard's front until Richard pushes back reflexively in his sleep and Lee feels a distinct bump nudging him from behind. It forces a little gasp from his throat, and he grinds back, on purpose this time, gratified when Richard gives an inarticulate moan and grows harder against his ass. For a moment, Lee toys with the idea of turning around, tugging Richard's briefs down and waking him up with a surprise blowjob, but the pressure rising in his own pants drives home just how urgently he needs to pee. With a grimace of discomfort and regret, he carefully tries to lift the dead weight of Richard's arm and slide out of his embrace.

"Where are you going," Richard mumbles, mostly asleep still as he reaches for Lee's retreating form and tries to reel him back in.

"Only to the bathroom," Lee replies softly, giving his arm a reassuring rub. "I'll be back."

Whether he's heard him or not, Richard sinks right back into the pillow and snoozes on, arm flung out beside him on the warm patch left by Lee's body. Lee spares him a fond glance before padding barefoot into the adjoining bathroom. Leaving the door ajar, he stands over the bowl and waits for his bladder to empty. When he is finished, he flushes and goes to wash his hands at the sink, letting the cold water run over his wrists to give himself a little boost. He has not entirely discarded the idea of that surprise blowjob, but when he stifles a yawn behind his hand and gets a whiff of his own breath, it occurs to him that brushing his teeth first would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Unthinkingly, he opens the cabinet in front of him, assuming that's where Richard keeps the toothpaste.

And sure enough, there it is. Top shelf, slightly to the left, right next to a small orange bottle, the kind pharmacies use for prescription medicine. Lee freezes on the spot, mouth going dry as he stares at that ordinary little container, which seems to be mocking him from its place on the shelf. He doesn't want to read the label, knows he shouldn't, but his eyes are quicker than his mind, flicking from Richard's name to the name of the drug.

_Oxycodone. Shit._

Somehow, Lee manages to grab the tube of toothpaste without knocking anything over and slams the cabinet shut before he can start to wonder how many pills are in that fucking bottle and crunch the numbers on whether it'd be enough for a nice buzz, a calculation his brain was once programmed to make in nanoseconds. He squirts some toothpaste onto his finger and quickly draws it along his teeth and tongue, leaning down over the sink to rinse and spit. Everything feels like a rush suddenly, and he fucking hates that feeling, remembers it all too well from a time in his life he'd much rather forget.

It does make one thing painfully clear, however. He'll have to face telling Richard about this particular demon sooner than he'd planned. _Better that way anyway. You've been picking at that band-aid for a couple weeks now; time to rip that fucker right off._

He finishes up in haste, leaving a glob of toothpaste in the sink and the tube out in the open - he really can't face that bottle a second time - and returns to the bedroom, where Richard is deeply asleep once more, stretched out on his back with one muscled arm thrown up over his head. Standing at the foot of the bed, Lee permits himself some time just to stare at the man lying there, waiting for the pleasing sight to replace the orange dot still dancing before his mind's eye like an annoying afterimage burnt onto his retina. It is like trying not to think of a purple elephant; what could Richard be taking oxy for? A wonky back? Busted knee? Headaches?

Eventually, after a few minutes, the adrenaline rush ebbs away and he is able to breathe in more deeply. For one brief moment, he tries to convince himself to get dressed, leave an apologetic note and walk out the door before Richard wakes up, but it's pointless and he knows it. He's in way too deep already.

Watching Richard sleep really does have a calming effect, Lee finds, but feasting his eyes on the masculine, well-defined lines of Richard's torso - the man really is fit, Jesus - inevitably leads to dirtier thoughts. Lee's gaze travels down Richard's stomach, past the dip of his navel and the slight curve of his belly, to the rise of cock in his grey briefs which, disappointingly, seems to have shrunk and softened since it was pressed against Lee's backside about ten minutes ago. But, Lee decides as he gets on the bed and crawls forward with catlike grace, he can definitely amend that.

Amazingly, Richard does not wake up even when Lee straddles his hips, so Lee decides to entertain himself, gently nudging Richard's cheek with his knuckles and studying the reaction - furrowed nose, little snore, then nothing - with amused fascination. He bends down to softly kiss the parted lips and gets a sigh in return. Tickling Richard's armpit earns him a series of muscle twitches, a flutter of eyelids and something resembling a mutter of protest. Barely able to contain his grin, Lee braces some of his weight on his hands and lowers his hips against Richard's, doing a slow swiveling grind, watching Richard's face as his eyes finally crack open, revealing two slivers of surprised, startling blue. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but when Lee repeats that rolling motion, nothing but a hoarse groan comes out.

Encouraged by what he sees in Richard's eyes - and no less by what he feels happening further down - Lee parts his legs more and continues to rub himself against Richard's body in an imitation of fucking-- not just hips but belly, stomach, chest. It's always a pleasure to meet someone almost as tall as he is, someone who doesn't disappear under him but has some bulk of his own, and Richard has plenty-- Lee can feel the strength and power in the body underneath his as it begins rising up to meet his movements, slowly at first, but gradually increasing in speed. The friction is _fucking divine_ , and somehow the fact that neither has said a word so far makes what they are doing feel even more intense, more intimate. Lee stares into Richard's eyes as he grinds down and Richard stares back, wide-eyed now and open-mouthed, grunting, reaching down with both hands to grab Lee's ass and pull him down with more force. Lee is fully hard now and he believes that Richard is too, but the lines between their bodies are starting to blur, so at this point it is hard to tell where Lee ends and Richard begins, and whether the dampness Lee feels at the front of his briefs is his or Richard's. Not that it matters when everything is heat and bliss and sweet, burning pressure.

Lee rolls his hips harder, grunts _yes_ when Richard slides his hands underneath the waistband of his briefs to knead his bare, clenching buttocks. Richard draws his knees up for more leverage and takes back some of the control, surging up rhythmically between Lee's widely splayed legs and summoning loud groans from them both.

"Lee," Richard gasps out, and he is giving Lee that look again, that besotted look of near-worship that made Lee so uncomfortable before, but right in this moment, all dignity forgotten as they dry hump towards completion, Lee almost feels worthy.

"Richard," he replies. It comes out gravelly, more like a groan than an actual word, but Richard responds all the more strongly for it, at least a dozen different nuances of pleasure flickering across his face as he arches his back and undulates against Lee in a frantic rut. Lee leans down and licks a hot, wet path along Richard's clavicle, tasting salt at the dip in the middle. "Richard," he repeats, breathing the name against bare skin and delighting in the responding shudder that follows. "Rich."

"Oh god." Richard is slowly starting to fall apart, completely surrendered to this primal, physical thing that is almost fucking but not quite, and which neither of them could stop now even if they wanted to. Faster and faster they go, uncaring of the undignified squelching sounds their sweat-slick torsos are making together as they meet and part, meet and part. "Please, I need--"

Lee nods, because he too feels that telltale pull low in his belly, the heat gathering at the base of his spine. He shifts his upper body weight to one arm and tugs the front of Richard's briefs down with his now free hand, revealing a firm, reddened cock. The sight makes Lee's jaw twinge with a phantom ache, the memory of sucking that beauty dry the night before still fresh, but that surprise blowjob will be for another time. He closes his fingers around the base and pulls up in what he likes to think of as a screwdriver twist, a move that has Richard's toes curling if the harsh cry he emits is anything to go by. "Yeah, like that," he orders thickly as he does it again, squeezing harder. "Come on, Rich. Show me."

Third time's the charm, it turns out, as Richard throws his head back into the pillow and lets out a wail loud enough to wake up half the building, his body pulled into a tight arch as the first streak of come lands on his chest, followed by another and then another, until he's done and there's nothing left to do but collapse bonelessly and gasp for breath while Lee takes out his own cock to get himself off in a similar manner. For a few moments Richard looks on, watching Lee's cock slipping through the narrow circle of his slick fingers, but then he suddenly stops him. "Wait," he says, tugging at Lee's hips to guide him forward. "Come here."

Lee's brain nearly short-circuits when he straddles Richard's chest and reads his intention from his face. He wants to ask if he's sure, but then Richard licks his cock and opens his mouth and the only option is to grab the headboard of the bed for support and sink inside. "Oh, _Jesus_ ," he swears when he feels that moist heat enveloping him, and he barely restrains from fisting his hand into Richard's hair and burying himself to the hilt, instead keeping as still as he possibly manage. He doesn't want to embarrass himself by coming so quickly, but when he glances down and sees Richard blinking up at him, lips stretched around his cock as he sucks and works his tongue, he can feel the first ripples of orgasm creeping up on him, then quickly building to a tidal wave that takes him hard and fast, dragging him under.

When he re-emerges to the feeling of Richard's mouth swallowing around him, Lee realizes he's shoved his cock in deeper than he meant to and starts to pull back, only to have Richard's fingers on his hips preventing him. Lee releases the headboard and plants his hands into the mattress instead, moaning softly as he watches Richard's face below him, the work and bob of his throat as he swallows every last drop. Only then does Richard give him a gentle push, exhaling with a soft gasp when Lee pulls out.

"Holy fuck," Lee mutters, lifting his hand to Richard's mouth and brushing the shiny bottom lip with his thumb.

"Yeah," Richard agrees breathlessly, and for now, that is all that needs to be said.


	11. Hummingbird

"Do you smoke?" Lee asks as he reaches for the heap next to the bed that is his favorite pair of cargo pants and searches the pockets for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. 

"Only after really good sex." Behind him, Richard dabs at the come stains on his chest with a tissue and leans over his own side of the bed to throw it in the bin. "So yeah, I'll share if you're willing." 

With a chuckle, Lee puts a cigarette between his lips and flicks the lighter, holding the flame at the end until it glows orange. "Flattery will get you anywhere," he says, tucking the lighter into the pack and tossing it on the nightstand. He breathes in deeply and then offers the cigarette to Richard. 

"It's not flattery." Richard takes a hit and exhales with a sigh, wrapping his arm around Lee's shoulder as the younger man gets comfortable and curls up next to him. "That was pretty bloody amazing, not something I wake up to every day. To be honest I half expected you to have regrets about last night, but blimey, did you just prove me wrong." 

"Why did you think that? What happened last night was hardly out of the blue, was it? It's been coming for a little while." 

"I don't know." A thoughtful pause as the cigarette changes hands again, and Richard gives Lee's shoulder a little squeeze. "I mean yes, it's been coming, but... I get the feeling sometimes that you're not really sure what you want, that you're scared of what this could become. You get that panicked 'deer caught in headlights' sort of look, like you're about to bolt. Do correct me if I'm wrong." 

Lee closes his eyes and burrows his face against the crook of Richard's neck. "You're not wrong," he says truthfully, the confession coming out somewhat muffled. "It's true, I do get scared at times. But I'm not going to bolt from this. I promise." 

"Okay. Good." 

"You may want to withhold judgment on that until you know exactly who you've gotten in bed with. Chances are you'll change your mind as to whether me sticking around is a good thing." 

"I sincerely doubt it," Richard says. "Whatever happened in your past, Lee, you won't get any judgment from me. I'm a long way from being perfect myself." 

They smoke in silence for a while, until eventually Lee crushes out the cigarette, takes a deep breath for courage and sits up, turning his back towards Richard. "Do you see this?" 

After a few moments of silence, Richard hesitantly replies, "The dragon? I haven't really gotten a good look at that one before. It's beautiful, but... a little grim as well." 

Lee nods. The tattoo Richard refers to is of a large, winged dragon and a young man standing over it with a long spear in his hands, its head embedded in the dragon's scaled chest. It is an image full of movement, skillfully designed so that the dragon's long body appears to be curling, twisting and slithering where it has fallen. The beast is in its death throes but still dangerous-- its breath is fire, and the young dragonslayer is within reach of the razor-sharp claws and the thick tail that might yet lash out with a mighty, bone-crushing swing. 

"It is the legend of Saint George," Lee explains, closing his eyes when he feels Richard's fingers gently tracing the dragon's sinuous length. 

"Your own design?" Richard asks. 

Lee shakes his head. "God no, I wish I had half the skill. No, it was designed by the artist who put it on me, someone who is very important to me and who knew how important this tattoo is. His name's Ian, he owns the shop I work at, so I guess that technically makes him my employer even though our relationship is more personal than that. He's a living legend; every tattoo artist on the east coast will tell you that, and I had the privilege to apprentice under him." 

Richard's fingers stop at the point where dragon and spear meet. "What does the dragon represent?" 

Lee turns around at that and faces Richard somewhat apprehensively. Saying the words out loud never gets any easier, but somewhere in Richard's gentle gaze he finds the courage to plunge ahead. "Addiction. Drugs." He watches Richard's eyes attentively, expecting to see signs of shock, disgust, however subtle or fleeting-- but he sees none. In fact, Richard doesn't even look all that surprised. 

"What kind of drugs?" He sits up, getting to Lee's eye height, and pulls a pillow to him to put behind his back. 

"Anti-anxiety and pain meds," Lee says. "Including but not limited to Valium, Xanax, Phenobarbital, OxyContin, Percocet, Vicodin and a few others. You name it, I probably crushed it and snorted it at some point. Once you get to a certain stage, you're not too fussy about what will get you the high." He trails off and lowers his eyes in discomfort and shame. Now that the dreaded moment is here, he finds the reality of Richard's sympathetic gaze even harder to bear than the disappointment he had feared. 

"Please look at me, Lee," Richard prompts gently, and Lee forces himself to comply. "Tell me what happened. Is this why you don't drink alcohol? Because you're in recovery?" 

Lee gives a slight, stiff nod. "I was in a car accident when I was eighteen, busted my back pretty bad and got a prescription for oxy to manage the pain. That's how it started." His voice slips into a mechanical, emotionless monotone as he speaks, a defense mechanism as familiar as an old friend. "Eighteen months and two accidental overdoses later, I was living on the street, scraping by on what I could make by panhandling and selling my art. Most of it went straight to pills, of course." A burst of bitter laughter escapes him. "Pretty bizarre, huh? I was so weak and malnourished you could have knocked me over with a feather, but all I cared about was scoring my next fix. Fucking pathetic junkie." 

Richard scoots closer and cautiously lifts his fingers to Lee's face. When Lee flinches and abruptly pulls back from the tender caress, Richard looks crushed for a second before his expression gains a determined streak and he tries again. This time, Lee forces himself to keep still, and after a moment or two he relaxes, leaning his cheek into Richard's palm and exhaling slowly. 

"Go on," Richard encourages. "What happened then?" 

"Ian," Lee says. "He stopped to look at my art one day, said that I had talent. He asked me to improvise a sketch right there. He was impressed with it, but Ian wasn't born yesterday. He knew exactly what any money he gave me would be used for, so he made me another offer. He said that he would pay for a stint in rehab and that a job would be waiting for me after I completed treatment. He made it very clear that it was a one-off opportunity; if I left treatment early or got kicked out, there would be no second chances. So, off I went for ninety days. Treatment was hard, of course, but Ian kept in touch, even visited me once or twice, just to prove that he wasn't shitting around. Once I got out, clean and about forty pounds heavier, I never wanted to go back to that miserable time. I started as an apprentice at the shop the next day. I was the runt of course, dangled at the bottom of the food chain, but I pinched myself every day, I was just so fucking happy to be there. Do you have any idea how many accomplished artists more talented than me would kill for a chance to have studied under The Wizard?" 

Richard looks confused. "The Wizard?" 

"That's Ian's handle, the name he goes by in our circles. Even I don't know his last name, which goes to show you just what a fucking star the guy is. And I'm pretty sure I owe him my life." 

"It is an incredible thing he's done, that much is certain." Richard reaches for Lee's hand and gently links their fingers together. "I am sure you feel very loyal towards him." 

"I do, and so does Evie," Lee says. "It's not just me, you see. You know those people who keep taking in stray pets, animal hoarders? Well, Ian kind of does the same thing with stray humans, if you will-- he reaches out to people who are down in the dumps, gives them the leg up they need. In Evie's case it wasn't drugs, though, but an abusive relationship. The guy's currently doing time because of Ian, and once he gets released you can bet that he'll think twice about ever coming near her again. And I know of at least a dozen other people Ian has saved from a bad situation one way or the other." 

Richard smiles, shaking his head in amazement. "Your mentor must be quite an exceptional human being. I hope to meet him in person some day." 

Lee looks down to where their hands are still joined companionably on top of his thigh. It is a reassuring sight, but it is too early to let himself feel relief yet. "You seem to be taking all this remarkably well." 

"If you were expecting more of a meltdown, sorry to disappoint." Richard smiles. "It'd be rather hypocritical of me to make a scene given that I experimented with smoking pot and partying on XTC during my days at LAMDA. I know that's hardly on the same level as what you experienced, but my point is, I can relate and I certainly won't judge. I'm just so incredibly sorry you had to go through such a traumatic time, but the way you picked yourself up says a lot about your character. How long have you been sober now?" 

"Ten months." Lee bites his lip. "I relapsed last year. Briefly, but it was enough to break a twelve-year clean streak. It was the worst feeling; I really thought I had ruined everything. Ian was disappointed, of course, but he didn't give up on me. I did another stint in rehab and when I got out, my job was still there waiting for me. I don't think he'd be so forgiving if it happened again, though." 

"Why did you relapse? Was there a specific reason?" 

Lee shrugs. "I don't know. Things weren't going so well with Luke and my art was starting to suffer, so basically I just wanted a break from feeling like such a damn failure all the time. It was stupid, obviously. Once the high wears off, your shitty life is still shitty, except now you're having a pill problem on top of all the rest." 

"But you went back to rehab and got clean again," Richard says, curling his fingers more tightly around Lee's. "I don't know what to say other than I'm proud of you, Lee. And if there's anything I can do to support you or educate myself, like going to meetings with you or anything else you need, please let me know." 

Lee nods. "Actually there is one thing..." 

"Okay, what's that?" 

"The pills in your medicine cabinet." Lee pauses for a moment, seeing understanding dawn on Richard's face. "Could you... could you hide them, preferably put them under lock and key? I wish I could swear I'd never sink so low as to steal from you, but I don't fully trust myself and those pills are definitely a trigger." He blushes and hastily explains, "I wasn't looking for them, I swear, I only went through your stuff because I needed the toothpaste--" 

"God, Lee, of course, I believe you. I didn't know, but I'm glad you told me. I'll get rid of them first thing, and of the beers in the fridge as well." 

Lee is touched; however he feels he has to object. "You really don't have to go quite that far, Richard. If you ever feel like having a beer or a glass of wine in my presence you can, I don't want you to feel like you need to walk on eggshells around me. It's the pills that are the problem, so you can help me by putting those somewhere out of sight." 

"I will." Richard nods pensively. "I'm taking the oxycodone for my migraines, but I could discuss it with my physician, maybe there are some other options to explore." 

"Migraines, huh?" Lee lifts his hand and gently rakes his fingers through Richard's hair. "Do you get those a lot?" 

"On and off." Richard's lips twitch into a little smile. "It's always been stress-related for me. I somehow made it through _The Crucible_ without missing a single show, but after the final performance I literally collapsed and had one of my worst attacks ever. I was physically and mentally exhausted, stayed in bed for a week without seeing other people or even daylight. Don't know how I managed to keep hydrated and feed myself, honestly." 

"Poor Rich," Lee murmurs, moving in for a soft, lingering kiss. "Wish I could have been there to take care of you." 

"No, you certainly don't wish that. I'm a grumpy old git at the best of times, but when I'm ill I'm straight up insufferable, and I hope you'll never have to witness it." The end of the sentence is punctuated by the sound of Richard's growling stomach, and while they both laugh, Lee finally feels some of the tension dissipating. There is more left to be said, more truths not yet told, but maybe it will all be okay. Maybe he's finally caught a break this time. Maybe. 

"I guess that's our cue to get up, take a shower and start the day proper with some breakfast," Richard suggests. He looks at Lee for a moment, and there is definitely mischief brewing in those eyes. "You know, I'm pretty sure the shower stall could accommodate the both of us, if that idea interests you." 

"Of course it interests me," Lee says. "Let me just give you fair warning, though-- there is a 99.7 percent chance us showering together will result in me sucking your cock again." 

Richard flushes. "And the other 0.3 percent?" 

"Hmm... a sloppy but still satisfying hand job." Lee smiles. "So... Math was never my strong suit, but if I'm not mistaken those numbers amount to a 100 percent chance of you getting off one way or the other, Mr. Armitage." 

Richard's mouth falls open slightly on a soundless moan and he casts the bedcovers aside. "You know what," he says, tugging at Lee's hand and giving him a shy grin as he rises to his feet. "I think I like those odds."


	12. Macaw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request (I'm looking at you laeti, eucatastrophe__x and Jxt): a chapter of sexy shower shenanigans.

As he kneels ungracefully on the hard, slippery surface of the stall floor, Lee cannot help but ask himself with some measure of desperation just why having sex in the shower always seems like such a great idea in theory. There is never enough space, there are always hard edges in inconvenient places and it is nigh on impossible to find a comfortable position that works for his height, with his knees bearing the brunt of his weight and one of his calves cramping up distractingly no matter how he tries to stretch it. And the _water_ \-- it is everywhere, running into his eyes and nose and mouth, making him splutter and cough and completely spoiling the effect he's going for, which is to make Richard writhe and shout his name in ecstasy. Instead, the man is looking down at him somewhat concernedly. "Are you okay, Lee?"

"I'm fine." Lee sits back and shakes himself like a dog, rubbing soapy residue from his stinging eyes. "It's this fucking water that's throwing me off my game. Could you try turning the shower head or something?"

Richard reaches one hand behind him, and finally the steady cascade of water abates. "How about this?"

"Much better." Lee cards his fingers through his sodden hair and once his vision clears, he lets his eyes trail up the long, towering lines of Richard's torso above him, the film of water lending a sinful shine to every muscle. He grins because he remembers now, remembers why he wanted to do this in the first place, and he feels a fresh pang of want and longing when his gaze finally lands on the mostly-stiff cock in front of him. He grips it with one hand and places the other on Richard's hip, then does a long, slow lick, raising his eyes up to Richard's face at the end of it. "You're gorgeous," he murmurs, lipping and tonguing at the slit. "That was the first thing I thought when I met you, you know that? It's a miracle that Graham's tattoo turned out as well as it did with you sitting there, distracting me."

"I barely said a word all night," Richard objects, gently pressing his thumb to the bow of Lee's lip and gasping softly when Lee sucks the digit into his mouth. "Too smitten with the tattoo artist with the talented hands and beautiful smile. I couldn't stop watching him."

Lee moans and closes his eyes, drawing Richard's thumb in deeper, all the way to the last knuckle. Richard hisses through his teeth and presses down on Lee's tongue, cupping his jaw with the rest of his hand. His cock gives a strong twitch and Lee slides off, tapping it with his finger. "No need to be jealous," he admonishes playfully, "you'll get your turn."

The snorting sound that Richard makes in response gets cut off in the middle when Lee shifts and abruptly makes the switch, going down smoothly until the head of Richard's cock nudges the back of his throat. Richard staggers back slightly, the back of his skull hitting the tiles behind him with a dull thud, but he doesn't seem to care or even notice. "Oh, shit, Lee," he groans when Lee relaxes his throat a bit more and takes him deeper still. "Fuck, yes, oh my god--"

Richard, Lee decides as he commits himself to the task and starts bobbing his head at a steady, greedy pace, is delightfully vocal during sex-- harsh, panting breaths interspersed with an interesting, colorful mix of British and American curse words. The fact itself is not surprising - it is always the quiet ones that cuss the loudest, provided you know their sweet spots and how to hit them just right - but what does take Lee aback is how good it feels to do this, how powerfully stimulating Richard's deep, throaty moans are and how quickly his vaguely formulated idea of 'taking things slow' has been swept off the table somewhere between now and last night.

He doesn't want to take things slow.

Fuck no.

He doesn't want to take things slow _at all_.

Once his vision starts going a little blurry around the edges he pulls off with a gasp and presses wet, open-mouthed kisses to Richard's thigh, letting his hand take over while he catches his breath. Richard, half standing and half leaning against the tiled shower wall, meets his movements with shallow rolls of his hips, eyes traveling back and forth between Lee's hand, his face and his shoulders. "So good, Lee," he mutters over and over, "feels so fucking good, don't stop, please--"

"I'm not going to stop," Lee promises, "I'm about to make it better." Slowly and purposefully, he slides his hand between Richard's thighs. He briefly teases the cleft of his ass and takes a moment to get the lay of the land, feeling muscle jump and twitch under his fingers as he finds the hidden spot he's looking for and circles it lightly. The questioning look he sends up is met by Richard, who licks his lips and just nods permission, so Lee goes for it, angling the tip of his middle finger against the puckered ring of muscle and gradually adding pressure until it yields. As slick and slippery as everything is on the outside, the tightness and friction he encounters on the way in make him wish for some lube, just a drop or two, but fussing over practicalities now might kill the mood-- and sometimes one just has to roll with the punches. As a compromise he uses his mouth to distract Richard from any discomfort, to great effect, as the muscles clenching around his finger gradually relax and the slide becomes easier.

"Another," Richard rasps after a while, reaching down to brush a lock of wet hair from Lee's forehead and stroke his cheek. "I can take another."

Lee gives a low, muffled whine and pulls his finger almost all the way out before adding the second. Richard's body adjusts more quickly this time, hips tilting for an even better angle, an even smoother entry. It doesn't take long for Lee to bury himself knuckle-deep and once he does, he has to wait and gather his wits for a moment before he can continue, the squeeze around his fingers so tight that his cock throbs with envy. He can't let these thoughts in, can't allow himself to dwell on how fucking incredible it would be to just slap some lube on there, turn Richard around, spread his ass and mount. He breathes in steadily through his nose, wraps his free hand around Richard's hipbone and curves the two fingers he has inside him to the front.

"Ah," Richard mutters at that first, tentative swipe against his prostate, but Lee's fingers gain confidence quickly and the next pass sends a noticeable tremor through Richard's body. "Yes," he hisses, pushing his hips out, "fuck yes, like that."

Lee grunts and cranks it up a notch, keeping his rotations steady and rhythmical even as he slides off of Richard's cock and sits back to just stare at the man and study his reactions-- every flicker of pleasure that crosses his face, every clench of muscle in his abdomen, every twitch his erection gives in response to the deep strokes of Lee's fingers. It is such an incredibly erotic sight that Lee can barely wrap his mind around the idea that he is the one responsible for this rapture, that it is his ministrations Richard is responding to so beautifully. It inspires him to do even better, so he increases the pressure on Richard's prostate even more, one particularly cruel twist of his fingers almost bringing Richard to his knees, if the treacherous trembling of his thighs is any indication. "Fuck, Rich, I could watch you like this all day," he gushes, completely caught up in the moment, but every word of it is true.

"I won't last that long," Richard grits out. He slides one hand down his stomach and briefly grabs his balls before giving his cock a pull. "Your fingers feel amazing, Lee, so fucking good, I'm so close, Jesus--"

"Yeah," Lee says nonsensically, leaning in to give the head of Richard's cock a pass of his tongue. "Come for me, Rich, get yourself off, come on, baby--"

Richard's face crumples at the husky endearment and he starts working himself over in tandem with Lee's insistent finger work, matching him stroke for stroke with long, jerky pulls that quickly increase in tempo until he's balancing right on that delicate edge, balls drawn up tight in preparation. He suddenly stills and lets out a low, formless moan, the only warning Lee gets before his cock pulses and the first warm streak of white hits him in the chin. He opens his mouth and catches the next on his tongue, savoring the sweet-salty taste of triumph and the powerful clenching of Richard's body around his fingers that are still applying pressure, because oh, he wants everything Richard has to give and won't settle for less. He wraps his lips around the head, working together with Richard's fingers in getting the last drops out.

"Oh my god," Richard mutters as he slumps against the wall, panting like an athlete after a race. "Oh my fucking god..."

Lee swallows and carefully pulls his fingers out, feeling a twinge low in his belly at the soft whining sound Richard makes in response. He gets to his feet, somewhat stiffly, and is immediately pulled in for a kiss. They melt into one another - there is no other way to describe it - and Lee sighs when Richard gently licks the come off his chin and then dips lower to kiss and nip his neck. His hand slides down one of Lee's sides, around his waist and to the back to pull him closer still. The movement shifts Lee's weight forward and has his still-hard cock nudging Richard's leg. "Tell me what you want, Lee," Richard murmurs. "Do you want me to do the same for you? Talk to me."

For a long moment Lee remains silent, trying to figure out how to answer that question and coming up strangely empty. Richard's climax had been so intensely satisfying that his own somehow doesn't seem so important. It is an odd, but not entirely unpleasant realization, and it is completely new to him. Once the momentary haze lifts, however, the pressure between his legs becomes all too real and the mental image of Richard bending over in front of him comes swimming back into focus. "I want," he begins, not knowing how to finish that sentence and so he strands hopelessly. "I mean, I think-- I don't know."

"If you don't know how to say it," Richard says, and he smiles as he cups one side of Lee's face and kisses him surprisingly sweetly, "show me instead."

Lee draws his lip between his teeth and nods, taking Richard's shoulders and turning him around with a timidity that is quite alien to him, but then he doesn't do this every day, let alone with someone like Richard. For a brief moment Richard's face betrays surprise, but he shows no hesitation in facing the wall and bracing one arm against it, spreading his legs to balance his weight. The sight itself - Richard all but offering himself like this, naked and wet and ass pushed back - is everything Lee had expected it to be and more, and he has to take a deep breath to make sure he doesn't come there and then. He steps in and places his hands on the outsides of Richard's thighs, applying pressure until Richard adjusts his stance and the gap between his thighs closes. And still Richard just stands there, waiting for whatever Lee might choose to do next.

"You really trust me," Lee says, with no small amount of surprise and awe.

"Why wouldn't I trust you?" Richard turns his head to look over his shoulder at Lee.

 _Because you barely know me_. Lee takes the words and tucks them away for a later time, running one reverent hand over the long expanse of Richard's back and with the other he squeezes a firm round buttock, wondering again - for just a moment - what it would feel like to pull those cheeks apart and slide in. Instead, he bends his knees slightly and guides his cock between Richard's thighs, grabbing his hips for leverage and delivering a first, experimental thrust. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Richard exhales, leaning his forehead against his arm and clenching the muscles in his ass and thighs to give Lee an even tighter squeeze. Lee grunts and jerks forward, wrapping his fingers around Richard's hipbones as he starts to rut, slowly at first, but the sound of their thighs smacking together and the slickness of Richard's body are quickly urging him into a faster pace. He reaches out to thread his fingers through Richard's hair, tugging and extracting a gasp. He grips one broad shoulder and snaps his hips forward harder, basking in the wanton sounds issuing from Richard's mouth and allowing himself to imagine that he is fucking him for real, the illusion so close to perfect that it is easy to lose himself in it.

"God, Rich, you look so hot like this, so amazing." He bends forward and kisses Richard's neck and then his shoulder, sucking, even biting in the frenzy of the moment, wanting to leave marks that will last well after this encounter is over. Richard groans his name and rolls his hips back, and suddenly Lee's climax is upon him and there isn't even time left to pull back and be somewhat dignified about it, instead he just convulses and humps through it with his teeth in Richard's shoulder and his cock pulsing in the grip of Richard's thighs, leaving them sticky and dripping with come. It isn't until he leans up to fill his lungs with air that he sees the bright red indentations left by his teeth. "Oh shit, sorry," he mutters, smoothing them over with his thumb. "You've got a beauty here."

"Apology unnecessary." Richard straightens himself and turns around, drawing Lee close and kissing him, slow and soft. "That was really sexy," he murmurs, stroking the tips of his fingers through Lee's beard, down his neck and his shoulders. "I enjoyed that a lot."

"Yeah?" Lee sighs blissfully, eyes closed as he leans into Richard's embrace and surrenders to his gentle caresses, so affectionately bestowed. It would be a moment of perfect happiness, were it not for the sudden chill and the realization that the water has run quite cold while they were preoccupied with other things.

"I know, cold," Richard says when he feels Lee shivering. "Let's finish up here and go eat. Do you want to go out for some breakfast or stay here? Like I said, I don't have much to offer except toast and canned beans."

Lee smiles and indulges in one last cuddle, one last wet kiss. He doesn't have to think about his answer at all. "I'll take the beans," he says.

***

"Hey, Lee?"

Lee looks up from his steaming mug of coffee, which, despite Richard's English palate, tastes good enough and smells even better. After breakfast they've settled on opposite ends of the couch, legs companionably entwined in the middle. With their bellies full and the heavy relaxation that comes after good sex still flowing through their veins, they haven't talked much in the last half hour, but Lee finds the silence between them just as easy to enjoy as the conversations. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering about something."

"Yeeees?" Lee smiles patiently, lifting his foot and tickling Richard's belly with his toes. "Let's hear it."

Chuckling, Richard grabs Lee's ankle and tucks it between his legs to keep it immobile. "Are you free Saturday night?"

"For you, baby, I might be," Lee drawls, in a thick Texan accent he's spent years trying to shed. He wriggles his foot between Richard's thighs, working it up higher until he can just reach the soft bulge of Richard's cock and rub it.

"Ah... shit, Lee," Richard mutters, blushing adorably as he shifts out of reach. "I'm trying to ask you a serious question here."

"Okay, okay, I'm stopping." Lee relaxes back into the pillow, taking a sip of coffee and smiling at Richard over the rim of his mug. "Out with it, then. What's Saturday night?"

"Well..." Richard clears his throat. "They're hosting a charity event at The Ambassador. Quite a fancy do apparently; red carpet, white tie, the works. Not exactly my idea of a relaxed night out, but I've been asked to speech and it's for a good cause so... anyway. I was thinking that the thing might actually be bearable if you were there."

"Me?" There is a little flutter of surprise and excitement near Lee's midriff. "In what capacity?"

Richard's blush deepens. "As my plus one. My date, if you will."

"At a public, high-profile event like that? Are you sure that's what you want?"

Richard nods. "Yes, I'm quite sure. I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. In fact, I'd be proud to have you by my side, and I could really use your support." He pauses, looking somewhat anxious as he waits for a response. "So... what do you think?"

Lee leans away to put his mug on the coffee table and shifts around to settle into Richard's lap, no easy feat with legs as freakishly long as his, but he manages it. He takes Richard's face between his hands and brushes the forehead with his lips until the deep grooves of worry soften and the mouth relaxes to form a hopeful smile.

"What I think," Lee says, matching that smile, "is that I'm going to have to rent a tux."


	13. Albatross

As used as Lee is to being judged wherever he goes, the wordless looks of disapproval and even fear from total strangers never get any easier to ignore and the elderly Italian lady of the tuxedo rental place is one of the worst he's come across. She is tiny and fearsome and dark-eyed like so many Italian women, and she tuts and mutters to herself in her mother tongue as she darts around him taking his measurements. He can't understand a word of it, but her tone is clear enough and he is sure that the way she shakes her head and pulls up her nose at his Chucks, cargo pants and washed out T-shirt means the same thing in Italy as it does in America. When she has finished jotting everything down in a little notebook, she gives him another once-over, lets out a theatrical sigh and turns briskly, gesturing that he should follow.

" _Per un matrimonio_?" she asks as she leads him past the various racks and shelves, her heels clicking brusquely on the tiled floor. "Wedding?"

"Oh, uh, no," he stammers, then amends, "no, ma'am. It's for a fundraiser."

" _Come_?"

"A, a fundraiser? A charity event." He cringes slightly at the exasperated look she gives him and he wonders if he's about to get his knuckles rapped with a ruler or fed a big plate of pasta. The former option seems much more likely. "It's on Broadway. Red carpet, very fancy."

"Dio mio," she mutters, raising her impeccably manicured and bejeweled hands, and Lee finds he doesn't need to understand Italian to get the gist of what that means.

Over the course of the next ten to fifteen minutes, she takes him on a tour of the shop, efficiently pulling items of clothing from the neat stacks, holding them up in front of him for inspection and putting the selected pieces on the maneuverable clothes rack that she's pulling along with her. A sleek pair of black pants, a starched shirt so white that it hurts the eyes to look at it, and a tailored jacket, the only item Lee gets to try on for size. He meekly goes along with it all, because he's miles out of his comfort zone here and the sooner he can get out and fill his lungs with some fresh air, the better. Next to be added are a pair of shiny black shoes and even socks.

"I do have my own socks," he offers by way of protest, but she ignores him and holds out two bow ties, one black and one white. He stares at them blankly, wishing with all his being that Richard were here right now to do this with him. But it's Saturday which means that Richard is at the theatre playing the matinee and won't get home until after the shops close. It also means that he can't call Richard up to ask what color bow tie to choose, a decision he feels tragically unequipped to make on his own. Panicked, he takes a leap of faith and points at the white. If he's going to do this, if he's going to get all dressed up for the first and probably only time in his life, he might as well go all out.

The woman curls her finger at him so he leans down obediently, only to recoil when she reaches up to put the length of the bow tie around his neck. "What are you doing?" he asks defensively, immediately feeling the familiar tug of shame and embarrassment that always follows right after one of his reactions. People seldom understand why he responds the way he does, some are even personally offended by it, even when he makes an effort to explain.

Richard is one of the few rare exceptions in that he wants to understand the nature of the phobia. Richard is probably also the only person besides Ian who ever asked him how it originated and who did so out of a personal interest rather than a professional one.

"I show you how to tie it," she says in her broken English, reaching for him again, but he quickly steps back and takes the silky tie from her as casually as he can.

"That's not necessary, thank you," he says, forcing a calm tone. "I know how to do it, I've worn a bow tie before."

It is a lie, of course, one he didn't know was going to slip out until it did. She looks at him skeptically and for a moment he wonders if she'll ask him to tie the damn thing right there just to prove his claim, but she keeps silent and moves on to cufflinks.

Once the whole ensemble is complete, the woman takes it to the counter and zips it up in a garment bag with the store logo. She gives him a rental agreement to sign, pointing out the paragraph specifying the staggering replacement fees. "If you damage, you pay," she says in a distinctly threatening tone.

"That speaks for itself," Lee says wearily as he fills out the form, signs it with a hasty flourish and pushes his payment across the counter in banknotes and coins. This, too, is met with a look of stern disapproval, but she does - very unenthusiastically - yield the bag of clothes to him. He grabs it, mumbles a perfunctory greeting and gets the hell out of there, throwing the bag over his shoulder without a moment's thought. He can still hear her muttering Italian under her breath when the shop door falls shut behind him with a dignified jingle, and he halts in the middle of the sidewalk to finally take that deep breath of air he's been craving, tilting up his face to soak up the sun. It's only after a few moments that he becomes aware of grumpy pedestrians swerving around him and takes a step to the side to get out of the way.

By force of habit, he thoughtlessly checks his phone before unlocking his bike and is surprised to see the little green light flashing and the Whatsapp icon alerting him to a message Richard sent him a little over an hour ago, minutes before he was expected to get on stage.

_Hope everything went well @ the shop. If you want you can go to my place after, there's a key under the mat so you can let yourself in. When I come home we can get ready & leave together. Much more chic that way ;). LFTI. xR_

By the time Lee finishes reading - his eyes lingering on those two innocuous, yet significant letters at the end - any residual anxiety he may have felt has dissipated and he abandons right there his half-baked plan to take his suit back to the tattoo shop and get changed there. With Aidan and the other artists working tonight, it was never a very appealing option to begin with, and as weird as it's going to be waiting for Richard in his own apartment, somewhere deep within the core of Lee's being the idea stirs a hidden, unnamed longing as well. He taps a quick reply that Richard will hopefully see once he gets off the stage, mounts his bike and smoothly steers it onto the road with one hand, the bag with clothes representing two paychecks more than just a physical weight on his back.

***

He starts by carefully spreading out his gentleman's guise on the covers of Richard's bed, then stands back to stare at it for a while, wondering how the hell he's going to pull this charade off and whether it's too late to fake a sudden but very incapacitating illness-- food poisoning would do nicely. But then he remembers Richard's casually phrased but sentiment-heavy text message.

_LFTI. xR_

Shit. He groans, acknowledging that it is far too late for second thoughts.

He looks at the clock only to see that he has almost two hours to kill in this still-alien, very silent apartment, a daunting prospect that briefly has him considering waiting for Richard in one of the coffee shops down the street instead, but he dismisses that thought almost immediately and tries to distract himself browsing books and flipping channels for a few minutes. Both activities lose his interest pretty quickly, however, and he turns the TV off with a frustrated sigh to reach for his last resort-- his messenger bag with the sketchbook inside.

It does the trick; the moment he feels the familiar shape of the pencil between his fingers and he starts to sketch, everything else falls away. He forgets about the Italian woman, he forgets about the tuxedo spread out on the bed in the next room, he even forgets about the evening that lies ahead, smiling and talking and being social in a stuffy room full of strangers with only Richard there as a beacon of comfort and familiarity. Art saved him in kindergarten and it's been his constant companion every day since, even through that whole mess of an addiction. Art, he feels he can say without a trace of exaggeration or false sentimentality, is the sole reason that he has only two accidental overdoses to his name and not at least a few intentional ones.

After twenty to thirty minutes of thoughtless doodling, his restlessness has gone and he feels ready to begin tackling this thing one task at a time.

He starts by taking a short but very hot shower that fogs up the mirror in minutes, and as he rinses the shampoo from his hair, he lets his thoughts stray back to the things he and Richard did in this very stall just a few days ago. The memory stirs his cock, but it would be bad manners to jerk off in another man's shower, so he leaves it alone. If Richard were to come home right now, though - which is impossible, but Lee allows himself to imagine it anyway - a repeat session would definitely be called for.

After Lee gets out of the shower, his skin flushed from the heat, he wipes the mirror and finger combs his hair, starting over a couple of times until the man reflected back at him starts to resemble someone who might belong at a Broadway fundraiser. There is still something off about the picture, though, and after a few moments of intent staring, Lee realizes it's the beard. He pensively runs his fingers through the coarse mat of hair, trying to remember when he last trimmed it back a little. When was the last time he properly _shaved_?

He hasn't seen himself clean-shaven since the heyday of his addiction, which, not coincidentally, was the time he stopped caring about the way he looked altogether. Even after he got clean, he somehow never quite found the courage to shave it all off, look in the mirror and see the Lee from before the drugs. That Lee, the soft-cheeked, bright-eyed boy from Texas would bring back too many painful memories, ask too many confrontational questions. _What did you do to me? Why did you let things get this far?_

He is not looking forward to seeing that Lee again. But the beard has to go. He might as well have kept the rental fee for the tuxedo in his pocket if he's going to spoil the whole effect by showing up at The Ambassador tonight looking like a Chewbacca cosplayer on a budget. He takes a deep breath, counts to seven as he exhales and opens the medicine cabinet, bracing himself for the possibility that the oxy might still be there. For all Richard's understanding, he might have pushed its removal back or forgotten about it completely.

The bottle is gone. Its place on the shelf has been taken by a dental floss dispenser, and Lee finds he's never been so glad to see one of those before. At the same time, he feels an irrational surge of fondness for the man who put it there; a man who, evidently, is as good as his word after all. He gathers the items he needs - shaving cream, razor, brush and aftershave - and closes the cabinet, relieved that there is one less thing to worry about.

He layers the cream on thick and gives the mirror another wipe before angling the sharp razor against his skin and tentatively sliding it down with the grain. Despite not having done a wet shave in almost fifteen years, he finds that muscle memory does at least half the job, and with every dollop of hair and cream that lands in the sink, his movements gain in confidence. Progress is slow, however, because there's a lot of wilderness to cut through and he is determined not to nick himself in the process, not when he has to immerse himself in the glamour of Broadway and _own_ that fucking suit tonight.

Surprisingly, it feels good to shave; he even enjoys the satisfying scratchy sound the razor makes where it slides over his skin, and although he deliberately avoids looking at his face as a whole, even from the corners of his eyes he can see that the lack of beard makes for a substantial change. Once he's scraped off the last of the stubble, he leans down to splash some water on his cheeks and dab them gently with a towel. Then he waits a moment, staring at the mess in the sink, before slowly, slowly straightening up to look at his reflection.

"Oh." His soft gasp of surprise, escaping unbidden, ricochets off of the bathroom tiles. His eyes widen. "Hi."

The face in the mirror is shockingly familiar and at the same time not so. Gone are the soft, sleek lines of his boyhood, replaced by fuller, angular contours he's never really seen before. He turns his head this way and that, reacquainting himself with moles and freckles he had forgotten he had, the bump of his chin, the vertical groove between his nose and upper lip. Somehow, the absence of hair and abundance of naked skin put even more emphasis on how thick his eyebrows are.

There is another thing that is different, he realizes as he continues to stare at himself in childlike wonder. The last time his face was as exposed as this, he was much skinnier and didn't have a single tattoo yet. He takes a small step back to look at the tattoos he's amassed over the years, seeing the way they sit on the canvas of his skin, old and new, large and small, color and grey tone. Some are dearer than others but they all mean something and there isn't a single one that he regrets, not a single one that he would get rid of given the chance.

He lifts his gaze to his face once more, meeting the eyes in the mirror without trepidation. It seems that the boy he had feared to see is gone; or not gone, perhaps, because traces of him are still there, but evolved, encapsulated by someone older, warier and wiser. The person in the mirror is a recovering addict, but you wouldn't know it by sight. He has flesh and muscle on him, his skin has a good color, his eyes are clear and alert. He looks the very picture of physical health.

He just doesn't look very happy. There is a permanent groove between his brows and the corners of his mouth curve downward by default. He makes an attempt to lift them and sees an immediate improvement. He'll have to remember that; he'll have to remember to try and smile more often.

He cleans up the mess he's made, puts on his boxer briefs and heads for the bedroom to face the next challenge, represented by the immaculate array of clothes on the bed. For a few minutes he just stares at it, wondering if by thinking it hard enough he can impose his will upon all that starched, pressed, spotless fabric.

"It's okay," he tells himself. "I can do this. I can totally pull this off."

He starts with the easy bit-- the socks. Certainly longer and warmer than what he's used to, but nothing too challenging there. The pants-- not too bad actually. They fit him well and are not uncomfortable to wear. The shirt however feels stiff and unyielding as he pries open the buttons and shrugs it on, cringing at the cool slide of the fabric against his skin. But he keeps going, buttoning the shirt up and tucking the hem into his pants before turning to look at his reflection in the full length mirror Richard has in his bedroom. As expected, the shirt sits on his torso like it doesn't belong there, not because it doesn't fit - it actually does - but because the unsupple fabric doesn't mold to his form until he's patted it down and smoothed out the folds. The resulting look is marginally better.

Then, the dreaded bow tie. Wishing now that he had actually taken those instructions the woman had offered, he slides the silky fabric through his fingers thoughtfully. Of course, he could wait until Richard gets home. But he doesn't like being dependent on others - ironic, given that has to rely on a friend's charity for something as important as shelter - and he has an image in his head of Richard coming home to find him in full regalia that he wants to make a reality. So he sighs and pulls up the Youtube app on his phone.

The first instruction video he clicks on is almost ten minutes long, and he hits the back button immediately. The second starts with the blaring of unnecessarily loud music, prompting the same response. The third video promises a perfect bow tie in ten easy steps. He sails through the first three, gets confused on the fourth and messes it up on the fifth. He tries again from the beginning, with fingers that feel clumsy and wooden, and doesn't fare much better. With frustration rapidly mounting, he keeps trying, but the room suddenly feels stifling, his hands are sweaty and he can't suck the air into his lungs quickly enough and Christ, is he really about to have a panic attack over a fucking bow tie? He feels angry tears welling up and lets out a heartfelt _goddamnit_ as he flings the blasted thing away from him. He aims for the wall, but the silky band lands with an unsatisfying flutter in the middle of the room. Then he flops down on the bed and struggles to get his ragged breathing under control as he massages his throbbing temples. His confidence, briefly soaring after that little moment of self-discovery in the bathroom, comes plummeting down just as fast as it went up. Why in god's name did he agree to this? What good will it do him, tagging along to an event where everyone can see he doesn't belong? Why doesn't he change into his own clothes and go back to just tattooing and forget about this futile pipe dream?

The sound of a key sliding into the front door lock reminds him of the answer to all these questions.

Richard. Richard is why.

"Lee?" Keys jangling, door closing. "I'm home."

The rush of relief Lee feels at hearing that voice is so raw and physical that it almost tears a sob from his throat, and all tension floods from his body at once, leaving him too weak and shaky to even get up. "Here." It comes out sounding more animalistic than human, so he clears his throat, moistens his lips and tries again. "I'm in here."

A moment later Richard appears in the doorframe, handsome as ever, but looking increasingly concerned as he takes in the scene in front of him-- Lee slouching on the bed in defeat, wearing only half his outfit. "Lee? What's wrong?" He lowers his backpack to the floor and enters the room.

"I wanted to surprise you," Lee says unhappily, "but I got stumped on that fucking bow tie. God, I feel so stupid."

Richard kneels in front of him, one hand on Lee's leg. "What do you mean, you got stumped?"

"I don't know how to tie the damn thing, okay? I've never done this before." Lee lowers his head, too embarrassed to look Richard in the eye. "Please, don't laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing," Richard says earnestly. He reaches out and tilts Lee's chin up with his fingers, exerting minimal pressure. "You shaved your beard off."

Lee nods sluggishly. "Thought I'd be more believable that way. It was a... spontaneous decision. I, uh, borrowed your razor and shaving cream, hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay." Richard cups Lee's newly smooth jaw, eyes roving over his features. "I like this face, Lee, and the more I see of it, the better. Come on."

Lee doesn't protest when Richard pulls him to his feet and turns him towards the mirror. Richard looks around, spots the tie and goes to retrieve it. "Try again," he goads gently, positioning himself behind Lee and handing him the tie. "Show me how far you got."

Lee breathes out slowly and reluctantly obeys, trying to remember the steps. Doing this with Richard watching is even harder, he finds, but he reminds himself that Richard only wants to help. He completes the first few steps and then inevitably hits the same stumbling block as before. "I don't know how to do this next bit," he laments, at the same time cursing himself for acting like such a child.

"You're doing fine," Richard encourages, reaching around Lee's shoulders to guide his fingers. "No, don't let go, keep going. Now fold it like this and loop it around, like this. Good. Now pull here, not too hard... yes, exactly. See, you're doing it. Keep practicing, you'll get the hang of it."

Lee lowers his hands and looks at the final result. The bow is a bit crumpled and wonky, but it appears to be holding up and that feels like a victory in itself. Richard takes the jacket from the bed and holds it out so Lee only has to lift his arms to slide into it. Richard adjusts the collar and dusts off the shoulders with a quick sweep of a brush. "You look amazing," he tells Lee, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "You do see that, don't you?"

"I'm trying, but I mostly see a monkey in a suit." Lee gives him a tentative smile. "Do you really think I can do this?"

"I know you can. You have to keep in mind that people can't read your thoughts; they don't know you haven't done this before. They'll see a man in a suit and take you at face value. No one there will know about your past, or about your tattoos, if that's what you're self-conscious about. No one except me."

Lee turns around slowly. "No one except you," he affirms, lifting his hands to Richard's face and smiling at the heated gaze he gets from the other man. "Does that idea turn you on, Rich? Does it excite you, being the only one who knows what I look like underneath these ridiculous clothes?"

Richard blushes a deep scarlet. "I would be lying if I said that it didn't. But in all seriousness, Lee, I don't expect you to keep your promise if you feel too uncomfortable. I mean, I want you to come, but not at the price of your well-being. So... I guess what I'm trying to communicate here is that there is an out on the table for you if you want it."

Touched by the offer, Lee kisses him to let him know it is appreciated. "Thank you for the out," he says sincerely, "but I'm not taking it. I have my monkey suit on and I'm coming with you, and that's my final word."


	14. Starling

"You make it look so easy," Lee observes. From his chair by the bedroom window, he is watching Richard get ready for their night out. The man is looking positively dapper in his tux - not a rental - and Lee can't take his eyes away from him. 

Richard meets his gaze in the mirror, forehead furrowing in question. "What, you mean the bow tie?" 

"That," Lee says, "and everything else. The whole transformation. When you walk down that red carpet tonight, there's not going to be the slightest doubt in anyone's mind that you actually belong there." 

"You're overthinking it." Richard slicks his already immaculate hair back and fixes his collar for what has to be the third time at least. "No one will question your presence there tonight, Lee, I can guarantee it. I daresay you know a whole lot more about theatre than the majority of the people attending, so no worries on that score. And if the conversation takes a turn you're not comfortable with, you can always extract yourself by faking a phone call. Or send me a signal and I'll swoop in to save you." 

Lee rolls his eyes. "Please, Richard. I wouldn't expect you to spend the evening babysitting me. Feel free to mingle and network if the opportunity presents itself. I'm a big boy, I don't need my hand held the entire time." 

"Well, can I flag you down if _I'm_ the one who needs saving?" Richard gives Lee one of his endearingly crooked smiles. "I have no love for networking, or for these functions in general." 

"I understand that, but they're an intrinsic part of the industry you're in. It is a dog eat dog world, a business, and you have to approach it as such." 

Richard groans. "You sound like my manager. She has given me that speech more often than I care to remember." 

Lee gets up and crosses the floor to where Richard is still fussing with his hair. "You'll wear that mirror down before long," he teases, sliding his arms around Richard's shoulders from behind and nuzzling his neck, much as he had done that first night. It even garners the same reflexive response as it had then, prompting a shiver and a sigh from Richard. "You know, Rich, for a man as modest as yourself, you're surprisingly vain." 

"Well..." Richard gives him a playful little bump with his ass. "Look at who my date is. Can you blame me for upping my game?" 

"You're a smooth son of a bitch," Lee breathes against the side of Richard's neck, whispering kisses along the collar of his dress shirt because he just can't help himself with this man. "And you're full of shit." 

Gentle fingers beneath his chin invite him to look up at their reflections. Richard is gazing at him intently, brows drawn in a contemplative furrow. "I can't get over how young you look without the beard, Lee. I feel like such an old man next to you." 

"I don't think you're an old man," Lee assures him, lowering his hands to Richard's hips and sliding them slowly to the front. He notices that Richard's eyes track his movements, and a mischievous smile tugs at his lips. "Do you think people will assume things about us?" 

"Like what?" 

"Use your imagination, Rich." Lee chuckles and shifts his hands another inch, until the tips of his fingers are just a hair shy of the other man's cock. It earns him a soft gasp and an involuntary forward thrust of the hips. "I could be your rent boy for all they know." 

Richard gives him a glare that is part scandalized, part amused. "That would certainly make me seem a lot more interesting than I really am." 

"You mean you've never...?" 

"Paid for sex? No." Richard turns around but doesn't increase the distance between them, instead leaning comfortably into Lee's personal space, almost nose to nose. "That's not to say that there haven't been any dry spells in my life, because there have been, trust me. And some of them lasted longer than I would have liked. I was just never tempted to call in emergency troops." 

"When was the last time you dated?" 

"Nine months ago," Richard says without hesitation. "I remember exactly because it blew up around my birthday." 

"That's rough." Lee gives him a soft, sympathetic kiss. "Why did it end?" 

"For the same old reason relationships end every day. The big C." 

"Commitment?" 

"No, the other one." Richard makes a wry face. "Children. Turned out she wanted them, and sooner rather than later. It wasn't a long relationship, or a very viable one." 

Lee kisses him again, fleetingly, or that at least is his intention. Instead, he feels Richard's hand cupping the back of his neck to pull him closer, deeper into the kiss, his mouth opening beneath Lee's. And Lee teases his tongue in, shyly at first, but soon moaning at the soft slide of their tongues together. As the kiss grows more heated, Lee slips his hands underneath Richard's jacket and spreads them against the small of his back, guiding him even closer. Even through all of their clothing, he can feel what a good fit they are physically, and it thrills him to his very core. 

"Are you coming home with me?" Richard breathes against Lee's kiss-flushed lips, and hiding somewhere in that question is a soft and hopeful plea. "Tonight, after?" 

Lee closes his eyes and nods. He can already envision Evie's face when he texts her that he's spending the night at Richard's for the second time this week. While she is thrilled for him, he knows that she is also worried that he might be moving too fast and setting himself up for heartbreak further down the line. 

It is a very valid concern, he knows that rationally. But his feeling tells him to reach out for this thing with both hands before it slips away, to cradle it and shelter it against his breast like a fragile little bird he's found by the side of the road. He wants to nurture it, love it and find out what it may grow into, even though it may yet die. It is a risk he is willing to take. 

The sudden and unexpected sound of a bell ringing gives him a start. "What's that?" he asks, head snapping up. 

"Must be our cab." Richard glances at his watch and gently extracts himself from the embrace to walk into the living room. "Just a tad early." 

As Richard walks up to the speaker, Lee trails behind, shoulders hanging a bit. "We're taking a cab?" 

"Seemed like the best option." Richard presses the button to speak. "We'll be down in five." 

When Richard turns around to face him, Lee forces his expression into a smile. "We could always take the bike." 

Richard chuckles as he slides his wallet into the inside pocket of his jacket, along with two sheaves of paper he takes from the printer-- the speech he's supposed to give at the fundraiser, Lee knows. "While I have fond memories of those rides to Chelsea on the back of your bike, I don't think tonight would be the right time." 

"Why not? One sees stranger things on the streets of New York than two men in tuxes sharing a bike." 

Richard gives him a sly little look that Lee finds hard to interpret. "I don't know how to put this delicately, Lee, but..." He takes a few steps closer, bringing down the pitch of his voice as if he is about to reveal the darkest of secrets. "The thing is, it was really bloody uncomfortable, to the point that I had to schedule extra physio appointments just to unmangle my back. But I didn't say anything because I enjoyed it too, I enjoyed being that close to you. And, uh, do you promise not to laugh?" 

Lee just nods, clueless as to where Richard is going with this. 

Richard apparently sees Lee's blank stare and, blushing fiendishly, comes straight out with it. "I got hard, okay? Every bloody time. So it was uncomfortable on multiple levels, but I was happy to do it so long as it meant I got to have my arm around you for a while and feel you working those pedals around and-" He clears his throat. "Point is, I'd rather not risk it. There's bound to be some press at the carpet tonight and I can't face them when I'm all riled up." 

A slow smile of understanding spreads across Lee's face at that, and the more it widens, the brighter Richard's blush becomes. "For real, Richard? It turned you on?" 

Richard gives him a sheepish grin in return, something hot gleaming within the black of his pupils. " _You_ turn me on," he sighs, and he shakes his head as he makes the confession, "so much, Lee, you have no idea." 

Lee takes Richard's hand and tugs him closer, wrapping him in another embrace. "Trust me, I know the feeling," he says softly, brushing Richard's ear with his lips. "Now I'll tell you a secret." 

"I'm listening." 

"The bike thing? It wasn't just you." Lee smiles when Richard draws back slightly to meet his gaze. "It gave me... ideas. Sexy ones." 

"You'll have to tell me more about that someday soon," Richard breathes, and it appears he starts to lean in, eyes lowering to Lee's mouth, but just then the bell rings again, breaking the spell just as effectively as a bucketful of ice water would have done. 

"New Yorkers," Richard sighs. "Always in such a rush." He gives Lee a brief, apologetic kiss before pulling away and grabbing his keys from the counter. Then he pauses, sending Lee another look-- that characteristic mix of shyness and heat that _does_ things to Lee. "Uh... hold that thought?" 

"I will." Lee grins recklessly. "God, you can bet I will." 

*** 

Barely ten minutes later, swerving through Manhattan traffic on the back seat of a cab, Lee's mood has done a 180 and the only thought remaining to him is that he doesn't want to die, not like this and definitely not now, when life - well, his love life to be exact - might finally be looking up. It is true what Richard said-- New York is always in a hurry, and the cab driver is as careless as any Lee has seen, switching lanes when it suits, flooring it to avoid the red light and then running it anyway, only to slam on the brakes when they run into the next queue. 

Lee suffers in silence, but it doesn't take Richard long to notice the way he is pressing himself against the door, sweaty hand locked around the handle and his face tilted up to the crack in the window. The gassy fumes of New York rush hour hardly count as fresh air, but anything is better than the stifling smell of leather upholstering. God, but he hates that smell. 

"Jesus, Lee, are you all right?" Richard leans over to give him a concerned look. "You're pale as a sheet."

"Yeah, I..." Lee flinches when an overtaking car zooms by on his side of the cab. "I'm okay." 

"Like hell you are. What's wrong?" 

"It's..." Lee reaches for the safety belt that is keeping him trapped in his seat and tries to pry it away from his chest. It only helps a fraction in bringing his anxiety down. "I don't deal with cars very well. That's why I usually take my bike or the subway. Ever since my accident--" He doesn't finish but turns back to the window, breathing in deeply through his nose. 

"Oh shit, Lee." Richard groans softly in understanding. "Of course, why didn't I think of that?" 

"Because I never told you and you didn't know." 

"You should have said something before we got in the cab." Richard raps his knuckles on the partition separating them from the driver. "Take it easy, mate, we're not looking to break any records here, or traffic rules for that matter." 

Lee shakes his head. His lungs are demanding oxygen faster than he can suck it in through the tiny crack in the window. "I didn't want to make things difficult." Another sudden swerve of the cab throws him against the door and his stomach clenches ominously. It's probably a good thing that lunch time was a while ago. 

"Being honest is not making things difficult." Richard reaches across. "Take my hand, Lee." 

After taking another deep breath, Lee slowly uncurls his hand from the safety belt and puts it in Richard's, embarrassed by how clammy it is against the other man's palm. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry. Look at me." 

Lee doesn't want to take his eyes off the road. Looking out the window and trying to anticipate turns, stops and passing cars is the only thing that makes him feel like he has some sort of control over the situation. The last time he let his attention slip while behind the wheel, he woke up nearly paralyzed in a hospital bed, and that in turn led to living on the street strung out on pills. 

"Please, Lee. Trust me." Richard's tone is caring, but insistent. "Look at me." 

When Lee eventually succeeds in tearing his gaze away from what it happening outside and turns his wide-eyed stare on Richard, he finds it met by a warm, bolstering smile. 

"Hey," Richard says softly. "It's okay. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just a couple more blocks and we're there. Say it after me." 

"Nothing bad will happen," Lee parrots mechanically. 

"Good. Repeat as necessary, and keep looking at me if that helps." 

Lee realizes that it does in fact help; his thundering pulse slows down and the traffic around them slowly fades into the background until all Lee can see is Richard's face. "Richard," he croaks. 

"Yes?" 

_Why are you so wonderful_ , a voice within him whispers yearningly, but he gets embarrassed even thinking it. "You really have beautiful eyes," he blurts instead, which is only marginally better, and he imagines he can see the cab driver's eyes rolling in the rear view mirror. But the recipient of the compliment blushes graciously and smiles. 

"Thank you, Lee. I- I'm quite partial to yours myself, but you beat me to saying it. It's the truth, though." 

When they pull up to the Ambassador a few minutes later and the driver reads the fare off the meter, Lee has sufficiently recovered to object to Richard paying the whole sum. "We should at least split it down the middle," he argues. "I'm not a bum, I can afford it." 

"I'm not letting you pay for this, Lee. Not a single penny. You can pick up the bill next time." Richard tips the driver and holds up his first finger. "One minute," he tells him, then turns to Lee. "I'm probably going to be stopped for a couple of interviews on the way in. You can wait if you feel comfortable doing that, or you can go inside and wait for me there, whichever you prefer. There won't be any press inside, only invited guests, including my manager and some other acquaintances of mine. Are you okay with being introduced?" 

"Of course I am." 

"And you're sure you want to go through with this?" Richard insists. "Absolutely positive?" 

Lee smiles and squeezes Richard's hand. "Yes," he says. "I am now surer than ever."


	15. Swan

If Lee had felt any anxiety prior to getting out of the cab, it is gone the moment he sets foot on the red carpet and as cliché as it is, he has to shove his hand into his pocket and pinch his thigh through the fabric just to convince himself he isn't hallucinating. Richard is watching him, smiling expectantly and waiting for him to get his bearings back. Some members of the press have shown up as expected, though not in the numbers a premiere would garner-- radio, written press and photographers, maybe a dozen head all in all. Still, it is an intimidating enough sight that Lee has to force himself to keep his arms at his sides and not reach for the comfort of Richard's hand as they walk up to the theatre entrance. He recognizes one of the reporters as the blond man who interviewed Richard for _The New Yorker_ \-- O'Gorman. 

"Mr. Armitage!" a dark-haired woman toting a microphone calls to Richard. "A picture and a few words about your support for the FYTT?" 

The FYTT or Foundation for Young Talent in Theatre is an organization that, in addition to funding theatre performances and workshops for disadvantaged children, offers scholarships for promising young students whose parents cannot afford tuition fees. It is this charity that will receive all the proceeds of tonight's fundraiser, and Lee suspects it is mostly for this reason that Richard accepted the invitation in the first place. 

"Anything for the Associated Press, Ms. Mullane," Richard says as he diverts from his path to saunter over, and Lee notes with amusement the woman's surprised response to being recognized and remembered from a previous interview. If Richard is feeling the pressure of fame, it doesn't show; he seems relaxed and at ease as he answers Ms. Mullane's questions. 

Lee is lingering nearby, half listening and half soaking up the atmosphere, when his eye unexpectedly catches O'Gorman's. The man is watching him, a little more intently than Lee is comfortable with. "Hi there," he says, as if he's been waiting for Lee to return his gaze, "don't I know you from somewhere?" 

For some reason Lee can't quite put his finger on, he is irked by the reporter's curiosity and he gives what seems like the wisest answer. "No, I don't think so." 

"I'm sure I've seen you before. What's your name?" 

"It's--" Lee's pulse speeds up when he notices the tape recorder in O'Gorman's hands. Whether it is on or not, the sight hardly makes Lee more inclined to answer this reporter's questions. "You must have me mistaken for someone else. Sorry." 

A light flashing nearby gives Lee a start and he flinches noticeably, only to realize a moment later that the AP photographer is taking pictures of Richard. 

"Lovely," Ms. Mullane says. "One more, Mr. Armitage, if you don't mind. How about one of you two together?" She smiles at Lee and beckons him closer, but with O'Gorman's gaze burning in the back of his skull, Lee steps away, shaking his head. 

"No, I'd rather not, thank you," he says, wishing his mouth didn't feel quite so dry and rubbery. He sees the question in Richard's eyes and adds for his sake, "I'm just gonna head in, Rich, take your time." 

Deliberately avoiding eye contact with the assembled journalists, he turns and walks the rest of the red carpet by himself, his only thought to get to the end of it as quickly as possible. 

_Well, at least it was fun while it lasted._

Guarding the door is a porter in livery, and Lee's heart sinks as he finds this next obstacle on his path. He does not have the best relationship with people in uniform; it wouldn't be the first time he was forcibly removed from a building by a doorman or bouncer. But before he can start to explain who he is - or perhaps more importantly, who he came with - the man gives him a courteous nod and holds the door open with a flourish. "Good evening, sir." 

It is such a complete and unexpected change from how Lee is usually greeted at places of class that he jerks to a halt, shifting an incredulous look from the man to what awaits beyond the door as though it might be a trap. It takes him a moment to acknowledge the idiocy of that thought. "Thank you," he says as he walks on through, emphasizing both syllables with care. 

"You're welcome, sir. Enjoy your evening." 

Lee is almost sure that thanking the man a second time might be overdoing it, so he settles for a nod and a smile instead. The door opens right into the foyer, much larger than that of the Cherry Lane and much more posh with its warm colors, crystal chandeliers and gloriously restored 1920's feel. From his vantage point just inside the door, Lee takes to observing the way he likes to do before entering a new and crowded place, watching people in evening dress mill around while waiters circulate with platters of drinks and morsels of food. At the far end of the room, an as yet empty stage and a lectern await the first speaker. 

While Lee waits, the door keeps opening to let new guests in, and finally, after about ten minutes, it is Richard who walks in, accompanied by a stunning blond woman whose slender hand is resting comfortably in the crook of Richard's elbow. Lee feels a flash of surprise, then irrational jealousy, and eventually recognition. 

"Oh, Lee." Richard waves and leads the woman over to where Lee is standing, awestruck by the vision in front of him. Jesus Christ, two such handsome people should not be allowed within ten feet of each other. It is more than the human eye can take. 

"Are you okay?" Richard asks softly, concerned blue eyes darting across Lee's face. Lee just nods, blinded by the woman's friendly smile. In heels she stands almost as tall as Richard and she is wearing an elegant blue cocktail dress that might be fresh off the runway. She looks the complete opposite of the put-upon woman Lee remembers seeing in the printed photos he keeps in his drawer. 

"This is Cate," Richard says. "She played opposite me in-" 

" _The Crucible_ ," Lee blurts, extending his hand. "Hi, I'm Lee. It's an honor to meet the other half of the golden Proctor duo." 

"The pleasure's all mine, Lee." She has an incredible stage voice with a deep, sensual ring to it, and Lee catches himself irreverently musing that he could almost imagine himself going straight for a woman like her. She lets go of Richard's arm to take Lee's offered hand and leans up as if to kiss his cheek. He finds himself swaying into it without a second's hesitation. "You saw the play?" 

Lee groans. "God, I wish. I recently read all the reviews, but that only made me want to kick myself even harder for missing it. You must have been unforgettable, the both of you." 

"Are you an actor yourself?" 

Lee's face grows warm. "Just a fan." 

"Of Richard's?" she teases, laughing warmly when his blush intensifies. 

"Lee is quite the connoisseur," Richard says helpfully. "He's seen _Vincent_ how many times now?" 

"Six," Lee promptly replies.

"His observations as an audience member have been tremendously helpful in polishing my portrayal of Theo," Richard tells Cate.

"Oh my god, _Vincent_." Cate looks embarrassed. "I'm a bad friend for not having seen it yet, Richard, but I promise I'll come next week. My husband's babysitting, though he doesn't know it yet." 

"I still need to see yours as well," Richard says, and as an aside to Lee: "Cate's doing _Streetcar_ at the Lyceum." 

"Blanche or Stella?" Lee asks. 

"Blanche." Cate gives him a radiant smile. "You have to come, both of you. Promise me that you will, Lee." 

Lee's first thought is of his coworkers, who are not going to be too pleased when he asks them to cover his shift yet again. But when he sees Richard's expectant smile, all he can do is nod. "I promise." 

"Good. It's a date, then." She briefly strokes Richard's arm. "Good luck with your speech, darling. I will clap for you." 

He gives her a wry smile. "Thanks." 

They both watch Cate glide off, gaping like prepubescent boys smitten with the most beautiful teacher in school. "Wow," Lee says. 

"Tell me about it." Richard turns to Lee and gives him a long, pensive look. "Are you really okay? Because you didn't seem so okay to me when I was doing the interview." 

"I'm fine. Really. I just didn't want my picture taken by an AP photographer. Sorry if I overreacted." Lee pauses. "Did you see O'Gorman out there?" 

"The bloke from _The New Yorker_? Yes." 

"Did you give him an interview?" 

"Just two or three questions. I was worried about you, and Cate arriving gave me the perfect excuse to cut things short." 

"What questions did he ask you? Anything out of the ordinary?" 

"No, I don't think so." Richard frowns. "Why?" 

Lee shrugs, but he can tell from Richard's expression that he isn't going to let this go. "I think he recognized me from before, and he was looking at me like-- I don't know. It was just a gut feeling I had, and I didn't like it." 

Richard still looks confused. "So what if he recognized you?" 

"I don't know," Lee says again, and now that he does think about it, he wonders if he hasn't grossly overreacted back there on the carpet. "I'm probably being paranoid. I'd just rather not run into any people here who know my true colors, so to speak." 

Richard shakes his head and gives him a look of amused exasperation. "Come on," he says, putting his hand on Lee's back and coaxing him gently away from the door, "let's go find something to drink. I could use a little Dutch courage." 

*** 

Once they each have a drink - Lee soda, Richard a glass of red wine, 'to lubricate his throat' as he put it - Richard takes Lee on a slow tour of the room, pausing to exchange pleasantries with anyone who recognizes him. Lee shakes a lot of hands and learns a lot of names that he immediately forgets. 

"Still doing okay?" Richard casually asks him once. 

"Yes," Lee says, "so long as you promise not to quiz me later. You know a lot of people." 

Richard smiles. "Most of them only superficially. Hermits like myself don't have many friends. But I value highly the few I do have, like Graham." 

"You're only a hermit because you choose to be." 

"You may be right." 

They check out the table with prizes for the silent auction and Richard chats with three children, beneficiaries of the FYTT, who are selling raffle tickets for a dollar. They are completely unimpressed to learn that he is a stage actor, although their interest increases marginally once they realize that there is a poster of him as John Proctor, signed and framed, hanging on the wall opposite their booth. Just to be on the safe side, the oldest of the girls asks him for an autograph, and of course the other two then inevitably follow suit.

"Richard!" A woman in a black pant suit struts up to them. "I've been looking all over for you." 

"Well, you found me." Richard leans down to kiss her powdered cheek. "Hi, Philippa." 

She fixes his tie, and something about that motherly gesture - even though she can't be much older than Richard - has Lee biting his lip to keep himself from smirking. "You look amazing, love, as usual. Do you have your speech prepared?" 

Richard nods and pats his chest. "I have it right here." 

"Mmm. You know, it makes a better impression if you have the speech memorized." 

Richard's smile wavers ever so slightly, but enough for Lee to notice. "Philippa, this is Lee. Lee, Philippa, my manager." 

"Hi, Lee." A smile and a firm, professional handshake. "Here's a face I haven't seen before. You're a friend of Richard's?" 

Lee opens his mouth, closes it and looks at Richard, who clears his throat almost inaudibly. "Not a friend, Phil, but a date. My date." 

"Ah, really? Kudos for finding one even taller than you." Philippa takes a step back. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal him from you for a few minutes, Lee." And to Richard: "I've got some people chomping at the bit to talk to you about an upcoming project. Could be big, much bigger than _Vincent_ and possibly even _The Crucible_." 

Richard gives her a wary look. "What did you promise them, Phil? You know I'm not looking for projects of that scale at this time." 

"Let's go and discuss this somewhere else." Philippa's smile remains unchanged, but Lee can feel a sudden chill in the air. "Please, Richard." It does not sound like a request, and Richard acquiesces, looking apologetically at Lee. 

"I'll be back," he promises before walking off in Philippa's wake, the set of his shoulders betraying tension. Until now Richard has not really spoken much about his and Philippa's working relationship in any context, be it negative or positive, but what Lee has just seen suggests that there are some issues here. Maybe Richard will be in the mood to divulge a little more later. 

Lee goes for another soda and picks a spot at the periphery of the floor to avoid bumping shoulders with anyone. He feels a bit lost without Richard, like he imagines an unpopular teenager would feel, stranded at the prom without a date. His own senior prom hadn't been as bad as all that; he'd been relatively popular - despite being in drama club - and his date had been a chill girl who didn't expect him to put his tongue in her mouth at any stage. In Texas, that was the best scenario a guy like him could hope for, really. 

A waiter materializes in front of him, proffering a tray with a variety of tiny snacks. Other than blue cheese and watercress, there is nothing on that tray that Lee actually recognizes, but he is quite hungry - lunch was much too long ago - and so he picks a cracker at random and unsuspectingly puts it in his mouth. 

The unexpected salty taste and rubbery consistency of the topping almost make him spit out the thing - whatever it is - right then and there. He doesn't, but his face clearly betrays something as the waiter gives him a startled look of concern. "What's wrong, sir? Is it a bad oyster?" 

Lee shakes his head, pressing a fist to his mouth and desperately trying to disguise his gagging as coughing. "No, it's fine," he wheezes. "Something went down the wrong pipe, that's all." 

Once the waiter is gone, Lee discreetly but hurriedly spits out the oyster into a napkin and closes his fist around it, crumpling the paper into a tight little ball. To wash away the disgusting taste lingering in his mouth, he downs his soda in one go, vowing then and there not to eat any more food he doesn't recognize. He wants to slide the ball with the oyster into his pocket to dispose of later, but stops himself; if for some reason he forgets to take it out before returning the tux, he will be yelled at in Italian, and is that a risk he is really willing to take? He puts down his empty glass and looks around for a trash can - once again, being tall proves useful - spotting one near the cloakroom. 

Binning the oyster feels good, but as he works his tongue around his mouth, he realizes that he can still taste the damn thing, and he looks around for someone to bum a mint off of-- or better still, a cigarette. 

It is then that he hears a familiar voice coming from the other side of the pillar he's standing next to. 

"For Christ's sake, Philippa," he hears Richard saying. "What were you thinking when you did that? That you signed me up for a meet and greet is one thing, but as a raffle prize? That seems rather cheap." 

"Honestly, Richard, you're being a bit of a diva about this. They needed prizes for the raffle and I thought it would be cute, with the kids and all. What's the big deal?" 

"I'm thinking about the charity. We could have gotten a lot more at the silent auction. I'm not trying to be a diva, but I do hope that I'm worth more than a dollar." 

"Of course you are. But there was no time left to enter you for the silent auction, and this was the only way to contribute and get you some exposure at the same time. I talked about it at length with the organizers." 

"Forget about the exposure. I could have contributed by making a private donation. I am going to do that regardless." 

"You're not thinking professionally, Richard. Which is fine, that is why you hired me to make these kinds of decisions. So let me make them and trust that I know what I'm doing. We need to keep the momentum of your career going." 

"There can't be trust if there is no honest communication, Philippa." 

"That goes both ways, Richard." 

"What do you mean by that?" 

"I think you know what I mean." A pregnant pause. "Your date. Lee." 

Richard bristles. "What about him?" 

"You brought him without telling me, first of all." 

"I don't see the problem. I've brought dates to public functions before without asking your permission first." 

"Yes, but never--" Philippa's sentence cuts off and remains unfinished, but Lee knows what is left unsaid. _Never a man_. 

"Philippa." Richard's tone is one of gravely tested patience. "I've always been honest with you, from day one. You swore to me that my sexuality would never be an issue." 

"And it's not. Not for me personally." She sighs. "Okay, let's forget for a moment that Lee is a man. Who is he? What does he do, how did you meet him?" 

The seconds of silence that follow feel like an eternity, and Lee waits with a pounding heart, wondering if Richard will lie and afraid to find out. 

"I don't see how that is even relevant, Philippa." Not a lie. But, Lee thinks wryly, not the truth either. 

"I think you do, but I'll spell it out anyway. You're a public figure; who you're dating, who you're associated with matters, like it or not. You basically came out in public tonight, and you did it by springing a guy on me I've never even heard of before. I wonder just how well you know him yourself." 

"I know enough not to be worried. Just spend some time getting to know him, you'll see what I see soon enough." 

Another sigh from Philippa. "Oh god, Richard, you're totally lost already, aren't you? Are you not interested in hearing my concerns at all?" 

"I will hear them if I must. I just don't think they'll change my mind." 

It is at this point that Lee snaps out of his paralysis and gets his feet to move, because whatever comes after this is not something he particularly wants to hear. Staggering a bit on numb, awkward legs, shoulders bent forward as though pressed down by an invisible weight, he slowly turns and beats a silent retreat.


	16. Raven

When he returns to the raffle booth, Lee notices that the children look quite bored; it doesn't appear like they have a lot to do. 

"Hey kids," he says, unsure what tone to strike. He doesn't have a lot of experience dealing with kids; his sister has two, last he heard, two girls he has never even met. 

"Hi," they chorus listlessly, and the savvy oldest girl asks him, "Are you someone famous too?" 

"No, I am not someone famous. Sorry." He cracks a smile. "Looks like business's kinda slow, huh? How many tickets are you looking to sell in total?" 

The girl thinks for a moment. "Two hundred, I think?" 

"How many have you sold so far?" 

The boy consults the list and does the math. "Forty-two." 

"Okay, hang on." He reaches into his pocket and digs up the last of his cash; since he doesn't own a wallet, he's stuffed it all in there, notes and coins alike. The notes amount to eighty dollars, and with the coins he can scrape together another three. Not perfect, but still pretty good odds. "Put me down for eighty-three tickets," he says, adding his name to the list. "There, that puts a proper dent in things. Now you can all go take a little break, huh? Go to the bar and get some juice, tie people's shoelaces together, have a little fun." 

Three pairs of round eyes stare at him in bewilderment, reminding him just how long it's been since he was eight years old and looked at adults like they were aliens, especially when they were trying to be funny. He does get a polite giggle out of the boy, at least.

Richard is still not back, and although alcohol has never been Lee's drug of choice, he feels dangerously close to walking up to one of the waiters, start inhaling that free champagne they keep shoving into people's faces and get blissfully wasted before the conversation he's just overheard has a chance to sink in. 

And to make matters worse, he can _still_ taste that fucking oyster. It tastes like he imagines stagnant water does. 

To keep himself occupied - or perhaps out of sheer desperation - he starts approaching people who look like they might be smokers, hoping to find one willing to part with a cigarette. It reminds him of panhandling for his next fix, something he used to be quite good at, especially when he was high enough to be relaxed and charming, but not too high to be coherent. (When he was sick from withdrawal, it was an entirely different matter.) 

It makes him wonder if he'll ever truly be able to leave that junkie behind. 

But it seems that even stone cold sober Lee can turn on the charm. The fourth or fifth person he approaches - a thirtyish guy in a blue suit, a daintily folded handkerchief peeking out from his breast pocket - smiles cooperatively and reaches into his jacket. "Lucky Strike okay?" 

"I'll take anything right now," Lee says without exaggeration, barely keeping in his sigh of relief. "Thanks, man, you're a lifesaver." 

"No problem." The Good Samaritan suddenly stills and looks at Lee more attentively. "Hey, wait a sec... you look kinda familiar." 

Lee's smile of gratitude freezes right up. _Shit, not this again._ "Sorry, I don't think--" 

"Oh my god." The man grins. "You're Lee. Lee Pace, right? You were in my year. Holy fuck, it's been forever and a half." 

Panic seizes Lee by the throat. Who the fuck is this guy who is beaming at him as though they are long lost friends? As before with O'Gorman, his go-to strategy would be to _deny, deny, deny_ , but no amount of lying and denying will change the fact that his name is indeed Lee Pace. "I'm sorry," he says, backing away a bit, "that was a long time ago, and, um..." 

"You don't remember me?" The man laughs. "Come on, Lee, I know those were wild times, but we weren't _that_ out of it. Goofing around between classes, drinks at Cafe Luxembourg after, hell, I think we even made out once or twice. Don't tell me I've aged beyond recognition? I like to think I can still pass for twenty." More laughter, and suddenly it clicks. 

"Matt," Lee croaks, now remembering the younger, slightly skinnier version of the man in front of him, with whom he had shared exactly one very forgettable kiss when they were both too shit-faced drunk to know better. 

"That's the name. What ever happened to you, man? You stopped coming to classes so suddenly, nobody really knew where you'd gotten off to. Good to see you're still in the industry, you were crazy talented. Always thought you'd show up on the silver screen someday as the next Cary Grant." He reaches for his cigarettes again. "Hey, how about I join you. We can catch up and remember fondly the days of yore." 

There is nothing about that scenario that Lee finds even remotely tempting. He doesn't want to swap life stories or partake in any fond remembering; in fact, he doesn't want to remember at all. 

"Um..." He takes another step back, desperately searching for an out, but no easy excuse comes to mind. "I can't. I'm sorry." 

"Hey." Matt follows, the smile fading slightly from his face, and before Lee knows it, he's reached out and touches him on the arm. "You look kinda spooked, buddy. Are you okay?" 

Again that question. Combined with that unsolicited hand on his arm, it's more than Lee's already frazzled nerves can take. "Leave me alone," he snaps, jerking his arm away. "We're not buddies. You're just someone I used to know a long time ago. And there is nothing for us to catch up on." 

He turns away from Matt's stunned expression and crosses the room at a brisk stride, only vaguely aware that people are hurriedly stepping out of his path, giving him startled and even angry looks that burn in his back long after he's passed them by. 

Once again, he is fleeing. Why is he always fleeing from _something_? And what will it take to make it stop? 

He spots the escape of an empty corridor and instinctively takes it, and when that corridor leads him to an emergency exit he doesn't think of stopping there. He grabs the bar and pushes the door open with his shoulder. The alarms he half expects to go off, don't, and then he's standing outside on a small secluded patio shockingly overgrown with weeds and littered with cigarette butts. Clearly, this is where the theatre staff congregates to smoke and exchange the latest gossip. Space is limited but the air is fresh and that is all that Lee craves-- air and a little solitude. 

It is only when he sees movement from the corner of his eye that he realizes that he is not as alone as he would have hoped. 

"Uh oh." Cate gives him a guilty smile, one hand holding a lit cigarette lifted halfway to her lips. "Busted." 

He can't find it in him to return her smile, but finding Cate here so unexpectedly is probably not the worst thing that could have happened, so he relaxes. "A secret smoker?" he guesses. 

"More like an asocial one. I hate smoking in groups. And I just wanted a little break from people, really." 

"I can so relate to that feeling." It occurs to Lee that he should probably respect her wish and leave, but he's tired, so damn tired of being on the run all the time. And little good it has done him. 

It is a huge relief that Cate doesn't ask him if he's okay. She merely scoots over and pats the spot next to her. "Feel like being asocial with me? There's room on this crate for two." 

Lee gratefully accepts the invitation as well as the cigarette she offers him. The lighter she gives him is warm from her fingers. "Thanks," he says at the first exhale, "I needed that." 

"You look it," she says frankly. "You could be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, sweetie, for all I know." 

Lee sighs, staring at the blank, whitewashed wall opposite them. He finds it is the perfect antithesis of his own chaotic state of mind; a thing of comfort almost. "I just saw a ghost from a past I've been running away from for years. One that I've kept a secret from a lot of people." What prompts him to be as honest and forthcoming as this, he doesn't know, but it feels remarkably good. 

"Including Richard?" 

"Especially Richard." Lee thoughtfully taps his cigarette and watches the ash fall to the ground. "For some mystifying reason, he seems to think I'm something quite special, and him believing that almost makes me believe it as well. I don't want that to go away, but... I know that I'm kidding myself. My past is what it is; no amount of running and hiding will change it, and I have to come to terms with that. It would be selfish to keep stringing Richard along, pretending I'm better than I really am. He's thrown in his lot with a complete failure without knowing it." 

"I'm sure he wouldn't feel that way, even if he did know the truth. Whatever it is." She takes two more cigarettes from the pack and tucks them in his breast pocket. "Emergency back-up," she explains in response to his questioning look. "Long night ahead." 

They sit in silence for a while, even after Cate has finished and put the pack away with a click of her purse. It is strangely comfortable, and by the time Lee has smoked his cigarette all the way down to the filter and crushed it out under the toe of his black polished shoe, he knows what has to be done. 

No more running. Time to turn around and look what's chasing him square in the eye. And if Richard is willing to stand and face it with him, all the better. 

"Cate," he says, "can I ask you to do me a favor? In addition to the cigarettes, which are deeply appreciated by the way." 

"Of course, Lee. What is the favor you need?" 

"Could you go in and find Richard for me, let him know where I am?" Lee feels a flutter of fear, but he takes it and crushes it as decisively as he crushed that cigarette just now. Fear is another thing he's just so fucking tired of. "There is a conversation he and I need to have." 

*** 

It takes Richard less than three minutes to appear, and when he does, Lee can tell from his expression that whatever Cate has said to him has failed to put his worries to rest. 

"What's going on, Lee?" he asks, dawdling a bit by the door as if unsure of the situation. "I got back and you weren't there. For a moment I thought you'd gotten cold feet and left." 

"As if I would just leave and ditch a hot date like you," Lee says, conjuring a smile to take some of the tension out of the air. "What kind of fool do you take me for?" 

Richard gives a tentative smile in return. "Then why are you hiding out here?" 

Lee indicates the spot next to him just like Cate had done earlier. "Come sit next to me. We have to talk." 

Richard's face slides back into an expression of worry, but he does as requested. It is a little awkward, sitting side by side rather than face to face, but Lee hopes it will be easier that way. "Remember when I told you there were things in my past I wasn't ready to share with you? The drugs were one of those things, but... there's more." 

A slow nod from Richard. "Go on." 

"Well..." Lee straightens his back slightly and nervously rubs his knees. "Fuck, this is harder than I thought." 

"For Christ's sake, Lee. So long as you didn't murder anyone, it can't be as bad as all that. Just get it off your chest, you'll feel so much better for it. And so will I, for that matter." 

"God, I hope you're right." A slow exhalation. "Okay, so, I just ran into an old classmate of mine. From Juilliard." 

A silence, and Lee is sure he can hear Richard holding his breath for a long, anxious moment. "Juilliard!" 

Lee nods. All of a sudden he feels strangely calm, but he knows it's only the eye of the storm. "I did nearly three semesters there. Enrolled when I was seventeen, dropped out when the drugs took over my life. I'm not just a theatre buff, see. I wanted to be an actor, like you. Stage or screen or both, I hadn't really figured that out yet, I just knew I loved the craft. These past few weeks have reminded me just how much. It's all been a dream, Richard; talking theatre with you, seeing you perform, being invited in, as it were, peeking behind the veil. It's been really great and really confusing at the same time, because... this could have been my life too, you know? If only I hadn't gotten into that accident. If only I hadn't chosen the drugs and squandered the one opportunity I had to do what I really loved. But I did, and here I am fifteen years later, an ex-junkie who inks people for a living. I have so many regrets, I can't even begin to count them, but giving up on Juilliard is by far the worst. Juilliard was the dream; I had it for a while and then I let it slip through my fingers. I am a thousand times more ashamed of that than I am of the addiction." 

"Lee..." 

"Please, Richard, I have more to say." Lee pauses only long enough to take a breath, determined to get it all out. "I happened to overhear part of your conversation with Philippa. I know she all but advised you against continuing with this relationship, if that is what it is." 

"That is not what she said," Richard interjects heatedly. "It isn't her decision to make, in any case. She is wrong and I told her that." 

"She is not wrong," Lee says. "I actually agree with her. Going out with me could potentially harm your career, Richard, and you'd be foolish not to consider that." 

"Then I guess I am a fool," Richard counters, "because it's not a concern to me at all. I really don't see how my love life would affect my work on stage." 

"It is not your work that would be affected, but your image. That's how the industry works." 

"I don't care," Richard says stubbornly. "I'm not going to let the 'industry' tell me who I can and cannot date. I'm not willing to compromise on that score." 

While talking, they have gradually shifted position and are now facing each other, knees bumping awkwardly. "Does what I just told you not make the slightest difference?" Lee asks incredulously. 

"Of course it makes a difference, just not in the way you may have expected." Richard reaches across and takes Lee's hand. "I'm not completely clueless, Lee. I kind of figured that there was more to your expertise in theatre, and it makes all the sense in the world now. Granted, I wasn't expecting Juilliard, and I understand why you're not proud of what happened. What you _should_ be proud of is that you got in in the first place. Being accepted at Juilliard is a huge, huge deal, Lee." 

"All the more stupid that I fucked it up," Lee spits out, bottom lip trembling as he tears his gaze - but not his hand - away. 

"Not stupid," Richard corrects. "Human. You had an accident and ended up in a situation where you had to take drugs to manage the pain. I imagine that you were stressed, scared maybe of falling behind in school, and that you started to rely on those drugs to help you recover faster, to get you through the day. So you started upping your doses, taking one pill more, then two, then three, until your body was so programmed to run on drugs that you couldn't function without them anymore. Is that more or less how it went?" He waits for Lee's barely perceptible nod. "Lee, you're wrong if you think that you're less of a person for having failed at something that was important to you. Do I wish things had gone differently for you? God yes. Do I think any less of you? Absolutely not. In fact, I'm even more proud of you now than I was before." 

"What the fuck for?" 

"For turning your life around when you did. Picking yourself up, getting clean, taking something you were already good at and using it to learn a whole new trade." 

"None of that would have happened if Ian hadn't kicked my ass off to rehab." 

"But he wouldn't have done that if he hadn't seen something special in you. So if he saw it, and I see it, and the people at bloody Juilliard saw it, then don't you think that maybe there's some truth in it?" 

"Even if I did..." Lee sighs and waits until he has enough control to keep his voice from wobbling. "Even if I did, the press won't, I promise you. Richard, why didn't you tell me that bringing me here tonight was going to be your coming out?" 

"Because it wasn't," Richard says, "not intentionally. It wasn't something I planned or even thought about. All I knew is that I wanted you to be here, and that's as far as my thought process went. And even if I had thought to tell Philippa and if she had advised against it, it wouldn't have made a difference." 

"You're a stubborn son of a bitch," Lee mutters, shaking his head. "So let me turn your question around on you then: if your manager tells you that this relationship could be bad for your image, and if I tell you the same thing, then don't you even want to consider the possibility that we could be right? Don't squander your career the way I squandered mine before it even began, Richard. It would break my heart to see that happen." 

"Your concern is noted," Richard says earnestly. "But I'm not going to stop seeing you, Lee, and that's the end of it. Unless this conversation is a very elaborate prelude to you breaking up with me?" 

"No, it's not," Lee says softly. As if he could walk away from the best thing to have happened to him since the Juilliard acceptance letter landed on his mat half a lifetime ago. "But Philippa--" 

"Don't worry about Philippa." Richard grimaces. "Our days of sharing a working relationship may be counted anyway." 

"Don't tell me you're thinking of firing her." 

"I'm too angry right now to make that decision. But this was not the first issue we butted heads over, Lee." 

"Good. That means she's just as stubborn and pig-headed as you are, and you need that, Richard. You need a manager who can stand up to you the way she did. A manager who kowtows to your every wish and whimsy is the last thing you should want." 

Richard gives him a look of pure astonishment. "And this is the advice you give me after hearing those things she said about you?" 

"Why not? I'm used to people having low opinions of me. She made some valid points, and she seems very good at what she does, even if you may not like hearing some of the things she tells you. Don't fire her." 

Richard regards him with a half smile, shaking his head. "Fine, Lee, I promise I won't. But if I catch her giving you a hard time, especially after you just saved her job, I'm not sure what I will do." 

"Don't worry. If my past in drugs won't beguile her, my charming personality and wit will." 

"Without a doubt." Richard's pocket starts to beep, and he reaches for his phone, chuckling. When he turns the alarm off and glances at the screen, however, his smile evaporates. "Oh, bollocks, my speech. Completely forgot I'm supposed to go on in ten." 

As Richard takes out his speech and starts perusing it one last time, biting the nail of his thumb while he is immersed, Lee's bewilderment soon turns to shame. He has been so preoccupied with himself and his own anxiety that it's like he's seeing Richard for the first time tonight. And what he sees is a celebrated Broadway actor with stage fright. 

"Oh my god, Richard," he says softly. "You're nervous, aren't you? You're actually nervous for this." 

"For speeches, always," Richard sheepishly admits. "When I'm reciting Shakespeare, at least I know it's bloody Shakespeare. But this is my own pathetic attempt at prose." 

"Let me have a look." Lee holds out his hand, smiling when he sees Richard's hesitation. "Rich, I'm going to hear it in ten minutes anyway. Let me help you while I still can." 

Finally Richard hands over the papers, anxiously waiting as Lee reads the first few paragraphs attentively and skims over the rest. 

"It's a good speech, Richard," he says. "All yours, or did Philippa give you some input?" 

"All mine." Richard fiddles with his phone. "You really think it's good?" 

"Yeah. It's personal, passionate, it's got a little bang at the end. All good things." Lee glances up and gives Richard a thoughtful look. "What's the opening sentence?" 

"Beg your pardon?" 

"The opening sentence, how does it go?" 

Richard doesn't hesitate. "'When I was seven years old, I saw a production of _The Tale of the Gingerbread Man_ at Haymarket Theatre in Leicester, England, my hometown.'" He pauses, sees that Lee is still waiting and rattles off the rest of the first paragraph without a hitch. 

"Okay, I've heard enough." Lee hands the papers back to Richard. "You can use these if they make you feel more confident, Rich, but I think you know what you want to say better than you think. Philippa is right; it's always best to give a speech from the heart, and I know that you can." 

"Then you know more than I do." 

Lee smiles and reaches up to run his fingers through Richard's hair in a way that's gotten good responses before. "Maybe a kiss for good luck would help take the jitters away?" 

Richard exhales softly and tilts his head to the side to receive what Lee offers-- a gentle, affectionate kiss, little more than a peck, but lingering long enough to get Lee's point across. 

Richard's phone beeps again. "I have to go," he groans. 

"You can do it," Lee tells him, "I'll be there the whole time. If you get nervous, just look at me." He takes Richard's hand and pulls him up from the crate. "And if that doesn't make you feel better, just think of all the first-rate sex you're going to get from me tonight."


	17. Crane

Lee can tell from the doorman's look that he is silently judging them as they leave, and in all fairness he can't really blame the guy; they hardly make for a dignified picture, Richard flushed and disheveled and staggering a bit on his feet - he's celebrated delivering his speech with two more glasses of heady Shiraz - and Lee practically glued to his side, clutching his arm and whispering into his ear about the filthy things he has in mind for them when they get home.

"Good night, John," Richard greets the porter, voice thick with what Lee knows is poorly disguised arousal, the same kind that clouds his own brain. Thank god he does a markedly better job not sounding like a drunkard as well. "Tell Caroline hi from me."

"Mr. Armitage," the man acknowledges with a nod of the head, "sir, good night."

The red carpet is still there, empty now that the press have left, and Lee takes the liberty of slipping his hand into Richard's as they stroll down its length, the way he wanted to do when they arrived. The surprised, gooey smile he gets from Richard in response gives him all kinds of butterflies in all sorts of places and incites him to block Richard's path and start kissing him right there, which gets them both so distracted and preoccupied with each other that the noise and the lights of the city around them fade into an indistinctive blur.

"Lee," Richard mutters as he half-heartedly tries to wrestle free from Lee's heated kisses, "Lee, do you want--"

Lee shuts him up with more kissing, licking Richard's mouth open and seductively sucking on his lower lip. Making out with Richard, he thinks unironically, is a seriously addictive pastime he could indulge in for hours on end; no pill even comes close. "I already told you what I want," he whispers as he hooks one finger behind Richard's already crooked bow tie and flicks it loose, curling his hands around both ends and using it to keep Richard right where he is as he goes in for another kiss.

"Lee." Richard covers Lee's mouth with the tips of his fingers just to be able to get a word in edgewise. "There's a metro station just around the corner, if you'd rather we take the subway back to my apartment. Would you prefer that?"

"I prefer whatever will get us there the fastest," Lee says, voice pitched sinfully low, and he nips at Richard's fingers and takes two of them into his mouth at the same time, gratified to see Richard's pupils widening in the semi-dark.

With a soft whine, Richard slowly slides his fingers out of Lee's mouth, briefly pressing them to his cupid's bow before reluctantly pulling away altogether, peering down the street and producing an ear-shattering whistle on his fingers. "Taxi!"

"Very good," Lee snickers as a yellow cab swerves to the curb and brakes. "Very New York."

Richard gives him a stupidly proud grin and opens the door for Lee like the chivalrous, corny bastard he is. "Not too bad for an English boy, eh?"

"I'm very impressed." Lee lingers a moment before getting into the cab, leaning across the door to give Richard another kiss, one less urgent but full of feeling. "I just wanted to tell you again," he says softly, "what you did tonight really meant the world to me. Thank you."

***

Richard's speech had gone well. So well in fact that once he loosened up a bit and found his voice he was able to actually address and engage his audience instead of just reading to them from his papers. From where he stood in the crowd Lee could even see Philippa nodding in approval, but the first person Richard looked to for confirmation at the final applause was Lee, who gave him the reassurance of a beaming smile and a silently mouthed _perfect_.

It was as if a weight had been taken from Richard's shoulders after that, and he'd gotten off the stage exuding more confidence than Lee had seen from him after any previous performance. Philippa had cleverly taken advantage of his elated mood to wring at least a little networking out of the evening, whisking Richard off and dragging him around the room while Lee used the opportunity to seek out Matt and apologize for his behavior earlier. They'd chatted for a few minutes and exchanged numbers, shaking each other the hand before parting ways. However small the step, for the first time in a good long while Lee felt tentatively hopeful that one day closure would be within his reach.

Eventually, after some time of being separated, Richard and Lee found each other again in the crowd.

"There's my favorite speaker of the evening." Lee smiled and couldn't resist leaning in for a little peck on the lips. "Is Philippa letting you take a well-deserved break?"

"I told Philippa I'm done schmoozing for the night. She grudgingly let me off the hook." Somewhere in Richard's smile and eyes Lee could see something hiding, something indefinable dancing just out reach. "Are you about as ready to call it a night as I am?"

"And get the hell out of here? Fuck yes."

"Good. There's just this one thing I have to do, though, and I'm going to need you to come with me. Are you game for that?"

Lee raised an eyebrow in intrigued amusement. Clearly the signals he'd picked up on were not just figments of his imagination. "How can I answer that question if I don't know what it is I am agreeing to?"

"Well, I guess you can't, or it would spoil the element of surprise. You're just going to have to trust me."

When Richard held out his hand, Lee hadn't had to think long at all before taking it.

He'd been led into the very bowels of the building, or so it felt, following Richard down carpeted corridors and through swing doors that bore signs with warning texts like STAFF ONLY and KEEP OUT. Eventually they stopped in front of a single locked door, at which Richard produced a key. When he saw Lee looking at it in bewilderment, he chuckled and said, "I had to call in quite a few favors to make this happen on such short notice. This was my dressing room in the Crucible days." He slid the key into the lock and opened the door, hand going unerringly for the light switch.

Upon entering the room, Lee had to make an effort to swallow down his first instinctive disappointment; it was just a standard dressing room, very much like the one at Cherry Lane, neat and tidy and with no distinguishing features except--

"And this was my costume," Richard said, walking towards the closet and affectionately patting the simple farmer's rags that hung on display in front of the closet door. "Well, one of them. They had this set still in storage. As far as stage clothes go, they were quite comfortable. Except the coat. God, that thing had me sweating rivers every night."

Lee stepped closer, unable to keep from reaching out, testing the feel of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger and gently stroking the sleeve. When he lifted it to his face and smelled it, all he got was the mustiness of storage and a whiff of mothballs, but even that stale smell awakened some long-buried memories. When he straightened back up and found Richard looking at him with a fond smile of understanding, he knew that no words of apology or even explanation were required.

"I like this surprise," he said softly. "Thank you, Richard."

"This is only our first stop." Richard took Proctor's long, faded blue scarf from the hanger and held it between his spread hands as he turned to Lee. "For the next part of the tour, I'm going to have to ask you to trust me a little bit more. Can you do that for me?"

Staring at the scarf, Lee felt his pulse speeding up at the realization of what Richard was asking and found that this time an answer was not immediately forthcoming. "Is that necessary?"

"The surprise won't be quite as good without it, but no, it's not strictly necessary." Richard gave him a reassuring smile but didn't press the issue, waiting patiently until finally, he got a nod of consent from Lee. Only then did he step closer, lifting the piece of cloth to Lee's eyes and wrapping its length around his head twice. He finished by tying it at the back, just firmly enough to keep it secure. "Is that okay?"

Lee nodded somewhat uncertainly. Now here was a situation he hadn't expected to find himself in tonight, or at any time really. "I don't think I've had a blindfold on since playing 'pin the tail on the donkey' in kindergarten."

"Clearly you need to spice up your sex life," Richard said, chuckling at the scandalized gasp escaping Lee in response to these words. "Don't worry, we'll work on that."

Lee whimpered. He couldn't help it. It was such an oddly exciting situation, standing there in that strange room robbed of his sight, very much out of his comfort zone but at the same time completely trusting of the man in charge.

It didn't exactly help that he was attracted to that man on a very visceral level, not just visually. Not being able to use his eyes had immediately sharpened his other senses and helped him perceive sound - Richard's breathing, the scrape of his soles on the floor - and touch - the warmth of his hands on Lee's shoulders, even a gentle caress of breath on his face - much more clearly, and he felt, very much to his own consternation, a flicker of ill-timed arousal in the pit of his belly.

When Richard's hands disappeared, Lee grew restless and blindly reached out, fingers grasping at air. "Where are you going?"

"I'm here." It came from behind, and Lee felt the heat from Richard's body, so close to his own. "I'm going to put one hand on your right shoulder and one on your left hip, and then we're going to take a little walk, okay?"

Lee licked his lips and tried to swallow. "We're not staying in the room? What if someone sees us?"

"No one will see us. I promise." Richard's hands appeared where he had said they would. The heat from behind increased when Richard leaned in even closer, and then Lee felt the brush of what could only be lips against his ear, accompanied by a low command. "No peeking."

All Lee could do at that point was shake his head, afraid that his voice might give too much away and trying to focus all his attention on the blind man's walk instead. His first few steps were tentative, somewhat fearful even, because he was not a six-year-old anymore, recklessly surging forward to pin the tail on the donkey while his classmates jeered and tried to confuse him. He felt his way with hands and feet, fingers finding the post of the door they'd entered through, and he instinctively ducked his head the way his height had taught him to do.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Lee," Richard reassured him. "We're in the corridor now, turning left. Try to go a little faster, bigger steps... that's it. I've got you."

When no collisions happened and no gaping black holes opened up in the ground to swallow him whole, Lee gradually relaxed and became more accepting of Richard's lead, walking more smoothly and surely as they turned left and right a few times, went through another door and then - the hardest part - up a few steps.

"Here we are," Richard said. "We'll get the blindfold off you in a bit, but not quite yet. There is a chair here for you to sit on. Here, I'll help you."

Lee turned his head this way and that as Richard guided him into a chair, trying to get a sense of the room. The acoustics suggested a high, wide space, and he felt a slight draught. "Where are we?"

"All will soon be revealed. Just sit tight and wait for my instruction."

Lee heard Richard moving away, and it was then that he picked up something else, a scent that was definitely not Richard's-- a woman's perfume. "Is there someone else here? But you said--" A sudden and irrational fear of having been duped surged within him and he reached for the blindfold. "Richard?"

"It's just me, sweetie-- Cate. There is no one else here."

"Oh." The fear subsided, and Lee turned his face in the direction her voice had come from. "Richard's got you in on this too? The plot thickens."

There was no reply; only some rustling noises, a whispered conversation Lee didn't understand, then silence and finally Richard's voice.

"Okay, Lee, you can look now."

When Lee took the blindfold off, he flinched from the light suddenly flooding his vision and had to blink a few times before his eyes adjusted and he could take stock of the situation.

He was sitting on a stage. A very large, brightly lit stage that was the focal point of a spacious auditorium. Behind him were rows upon rows of red plush seats and standing in the center of the stage were Richard and Cate, Richard in shirtsleeves and Cate no longer in heels but barefoot. For some reason she had also tied her shawl around her impeccably coiffed head. They reminded Lee of a more glamorous version of John and Elizabeth Proctor, the characters they had played every night - twice on Saturdays - for three months.

Here, on this very stage. _Their_ stage.

As Lee gaped at them both, a first shudder of understanding ran down his spine and his skin prickled with gooseflesh. Suddenly, he knew exactly what Richard had lured him here for. But before he could make the mistake of opening his mouth and blurting something out, Cate - Elizabeth - began to speak in a demure tone that, somehow, still showcased the resonant power of her voice.

"What keeps you so late? It’s almost dark."

Richard's response came deep and gruff. "I were planting far out to the forest edge."

"Oh, you're done then." 

"Aye, the farm is seeded. The boys asleep?"

The piece that Richard and Cate went on to perform to an audience of one was the opening scene of the second act-- one that cast into stark relief the emotional separation and deep-rooted misunderstandings between two spouses who want to love each other but have forgotten how. Richard and Cate picked up the threads as if they had never stopped, playing the scene with the same commitment as if they were performing to a full house; no doubt the backdrop also helped with that. It began with awkward, stilted conversation and jilted attempts at tenderness that were painful to witness, only to degenerate into a heated exchange of blame, hurt and anger on both sides that demonstrated just how wide and gaping the chasm between them was. It was one of the most electric pieces of theatre Lee had seen in a long time, and he sat clutching Proctor's scarf in his lap throughout, seeing with his own eyes what the reviewers had seen when they put pen to paper about Richard's performance.

John Proctor was not Theo van Gogh. Richard played both characters with the same inner fire, they were both equally fascinating to watch-- but while Theo was a gentle, cultured, educated man, Proctor was short-tempered and brutish, scowling and prowling like a caged tiger and just as unpredictable. Theo's actions were driven by grief and brotherly love, Proctor's by pride and inner conflict and lust. The difference between the two could hardly have been starker, and even in that short span of time - the scene lasted maybe five or six minutes in all - Lee was as if entranced, completely forgetting that he was watching a piece of theatre until the scene ended with John and Elizabeth at a bitter standoff.

The silence that descended on the auditorium seemed inappropriate and just plain _wrong_ after that performance, so once he got his bearings back Lee got up and honored the actors with a slow clap. He went over to Cate, hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. "That was incredible," he told her in all truthfulness. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, darling. This was the most I've enjoyed myself all night."

Richard was sweating a bit under the stage lights, eyes bright and still haunted by the shadow of Proctor, but the half-shy, half-hopeful smile he gave Lee was all Richard.

"Your idea, I suppose?" Lee asked him softly.

Richard nodded. "Just something I wanted to do for you. It was very last-minute. But we were here and Cate was up for it and I thought--"

"Rich," Lee interrupted, stepping in closer and taking Richard's face between his hands. "This was the sweetest, most romantic fucking thing anyone has ever done for me, and I don't know what I've done to earn it but with apologies to Cate, there is no way in hell I am not going to kiss you with everything I've got right now."

And that was exactly what he'd done.


	18. Phoenix

"Would you just look at all this shit I've won?" Lee says, rummaging through his bag of raffle prizes on the back seat of the cab. "Here, crystal wine glasses-- you can have them if you want. Sears vouchers, I guess I'll hang on to those until I have an actual house to buy crap for. Oh, actually this key chain's kinda cool." 

Richard is watching him with a smile. "I think you may have missed the point of how a raffle works, Lee. You're not supposed to buy up half the tickets." 

"Not half," Lee objects. "It was for a good cause, and anyway, I thought the first prize was worth the investment." 

"Too bad you didn't win the first prize." 

Lee stops what he is doing for a moment to look up at the man sitting next to him. "I feel like I did." 

Richard reaches out one arm in what is clearly an invitation and Lee accepts, pushing the bag with prizes out of the way and rolling into Richard's embrace and before he knows what is happening they are all over each other, mouths locked in one heated kiss after another and Lee has his fingers in Richard's hair and he can feel Richard's working on his bow tie and top buttons just to get underneath his collar, fanning out over his clavicle, the thumb a perfect fit for the tender hollow at the base of Lee's throat. Lee can feel his pulse racing against it. 

"I think I've found the perfect cure for my car anxiety," he tells Richard breathlessly. 

"What's that?" 

"Making out, like this." Lee laughs and dives back in, putting one leg across Richard's and wishing to god that he had the maneuvering space required to just straddle the man's lap right then and there and _grind_ \-- 

"Hey, fellas," the driver objects, "do you mind? Company rules say no backseat petting." 

"I'll tip you extra if you'll let it slide this time," Richard gasps as he comes up for air, and although that seems to do the trick - the man shrugs and refrains from further comments - they do try to take it down a few notches, settling for cuddles and the occasional peck. 

After the drop off, they send the cab driver on his way with his fare and a hefty tip and since neither of them has had much to eat at all - Lee hasn't touched any food after the oyster debacle - they decide to pop into a nearby snack bar for a late dinner of fish and chips. They eat standing up, not speaking much but grinning stupidly at one another and taking turns kissing the grease off each other's lips. At least some of it gets on Lee's jacket sleeve as well but he really doesn't care anymore at this point. 

Then it is time to go up to Richard's apartment full and euphorically happy, and even though they do nothing more than hold hands on the way up, by the time the front door clicks shut behind them they are tearing at each other's clothes like savages. Lee has Richard's jacket off in a heartbeat and goes for the suspenders next, pulling at them as he backs into the bedroom. As fuckable as Richard looks in a tux, Lee finds he enjoys peeling it off him even more-- in fact he savors the activity, the way he used to savor unwrapping that one long-desired present on Christmas morning. And Richard-- Jesus, Richard is trying to kiss every inch of him, it would seem, neck and shoulders and chest, but it is the phoenix he keeps returning to as though it has some sort of magnetic pull on him, the phoenix with its fiery wings and the long tail that Richard traces with his warm tongue, all the way down to his hip until he's kneeling in front of him. 

It is then that Richard notices the bulge in Lee's pocket and the bit of cloth peeking out. "What's this?" he says, reaching for it and tugging. "Is this...?" As he keeps pulling, out comes Proctor's faded blue scarf. 

Lee sheepishly meets Richard's astonished gaze. "So, it turns out that I am a thief and that I stole theatre property." 

"You took it? On purpose?" 

"Well, not on purpose exactly. I just tucked it in my pocket and allowed myself to forget it was there." Lee takes the scarf from Richard and tickles his face with one of the ends. "I thought it might serve a better purpose here than in storage." 

"What purpose?" 

Lee bites his lip quasi-embarrassed and waits for Richard to figure it out. 

"Oh my god, Lee, are you serious?" 

"It was you who said that my sex life needed more spice. Why not start right away?" 

Richard gets back to his feet, looking at Lee long and hard. "And you still stand by the, er, instructions you gave me earlier tonight?" 

"Each and every one." 

Richard cups his chin and gives him a gentle kiss of concession, taking the scarf back from him. "I do have scarves here at home, you know. Didn't have to go out and steal one." 

"I told you, I didn't steal it. Technically speaking." 

Richard chuckles, giving Lee one last look at his smiling face before he binds his eyes and Lee once again stands in complete darkness. "Okay like this?" 

"Yeah." 

"If you want to take it off at any point, just say so, okay? All I want is for you to enjoy yourself, so the moment you're not, please speak up. Promise me." 

"I promise," Lee breathes. "Please, Rich, keep doing what you were doing before." 

Richard takes the lead from there, first undressing Lee the rest of the way (slowly) and then himself (much less slowly), only to continue with the mission he's set himself to touch and kiss Lee all over. It is an elaborate, maddening spell he weaves, his fingers and lips and tongue mapping and experimenting and gradually growing bolder until Lee thinks he is going to pass out from sheer pleasure, his skin so sensitized that the slightest touch or scrape from Richard's beard causes him to jump and whimper, and he is all but ready to beg for the mercy of a bed just so that he doesn't have to will his legs into supporting his weight anymore. 

And then, without any warning at all, Richard takes him into his mouth. 

The heat is incredible. It is all Lee can do not to spend himself right then and there, his toes curling against the floor as he feels himself disappearing almost entirely into Richard's waiting mouth. And while part of him wishes he could watch and soak up the beauty of Richard sucking his cock, the fact that he _can't_ makes everything else a thousand times more intense. The varying pressure of Richard's fingers on his hips, the slick, continuous pulling sensation around his cock, the contractions and reverberations in Richard's throat and the sounds, Jesus, the _sounds_ \-- the little hums and moans but also the wet gulps and the soft clicks of his throat as he swallows him deeper. They are pure sin, and Lee eventually gives in to the temptation to slide his hand to the back of Richard's neck to feel the rhythmical work of tendons and muscles there. 

But as good as it all is, it is not the thing he wants most of all. No, there is something else that he longs for more, something that will be even better than this. 

And Richard, thankfully, remembers it in time. His mouth abruptly disappears from around Lee's cock, leaving it wet and aching, and his hands push gently at Lee's hips. 

"Take a couple steps back," he says, in a low, hoarse voice that speaks volumes on what he was doing only a few seconds ago. "Just one more... There's a chair there for you to lean on." 

After some uncoordinated groping, Lee's fingers find the back of the chair and close around it. He considers suggesting they continue this on the bed instead, but Richard seems to have other plans and it is Lee's curiosity that prevails. As he breathlessly waits - naked, aroused and blind, his entire body thrumming with sexual energy - it occurs to him that this is what it must feel like to really trust another person. 

It is... a good feeling. 

"Now turn around." Richard is still kneeling on the floor, his hands switching position on Lee's hips as he obediently faces the other way and presents his backside. The thought of what will happen next weakens his knees, and he grips the chair for support. 

Richard's palms smooth over his butt cheeks in slow, broad movements, thumbs and fingers digging in as he spreads Lee open just a little bit before sliding lower to tease his legs further apart. "Bend over a bit more." 

Lee shifts his hands to the armrests of the chair as he angles lower, and for the first time the flame of lust flickers in a small gust of fear at being this exposed and vulnerable. A soft, formless whimper escapes him. 

"Shh, it's okay," Richard soothes, hands returning to the curve of Lee's ass. "I've got you. I promise." 

"I know." The gust soon dies down, and Lee gasps in a harsh breath through his teeth when Richard's thumbs pull his cheeks apart and a warm, slick tongue appears at the root of his balls, licking slowly all the way up his cleft, directly over his hole. It leaves a cooling wet stripe, and when Richard gently blows air over it, Lee shudders and feels gooseflesh breaking out over his skin all the way down to his balls. His cock gives a strong twitch. "Oh, Jesus, Richard," he whines, "fuck." 

Richard takes his time warming Lee up for what is to come, dividing his attention equally between the tight little opening - where he lays the groundwork with superficial passes and playful flicks of his tongue - and the rest of Lee's ass, licking the insides of his thighs, the curve of each fleshy cheek and the dimples on top, nipping here and sucking there until Lee is squirming and whimpering with anticipation, near overwhelmed by what is without a doubt the most elaborate foreplay to a rimming that he's ever experienced. And before long, it is Lee's patience that runs out first. 

"Please," he gasps, chasing Richard's tongue with erratic rolls of his hips. "Richard, please, put it in me, please, Rich." He is practically chanting it. "Put it-- god..." 

He swears he can hear Richard chuckling - the bastard - right before his tongue returns to lap firmly at his entrance, a little more insistently with each sweep, until the tip catches in the puckered hole and begins to push inside. The sound that escapes Lee's throat is barely human, and he pitches forward, keening loudly as Richard's pointed tongue works its way past tight, clenching muscle. "Oh, fuck, Richard, yes, _fuck_!" 

Richard groans in response and tugs Lee's hips just that little bit closer, spreading his ass just that little bit more. His tongue softens inside Lee for a moment, slips out a bit, only to tense up again and be shoved firmly back in, all to the soundtrack of Lee's colorful profanities and strangled moans. 

"More," he pleads, releasing the chair with one hand to reach for his cock and stroke it in time with Richard's thrusting tongue. It throws his balance off, so he corrects by bracing one knee on the seat. "More, god, _please_."

Richard is nothing if not obliging; although it may not be physically possible to shove his tongue in deeper he certainly seems to be trying with enthusiasm, and the sinfully wet, sloppy noises that accompany his redoubled efforts have Lee thinking - although rational thought is barely involved - that he might lose his mind soon, to the chafing scratch of Richard's beard, the incredible contrast between cool saliva and hot breath on his ass, the steady thrust and twist of a tongue that is rapidly becoming the center of his universe. 

And then it suddenly withdraws, leaving him achingly empty, and he protests the loss with a high, mournful whine that under different circumstances might have caused him embarrassment. It stutters when Richard introduces what can only be the rough pad of a finger to his cleft and slides down with purpose, stopping just shy of his hole. "Lee?" 

As succinct as the question is, Lee understands and doesn't hesitate. "Do it," he urges breathlessly, "like this, right now." 

The finger goes away for a moment and reappears at his hole slick with spit. There is some pressure, the invasion very different from the softer, more flexible tongue that was buried inside Lee half a minute ago, and Lee braces himself on the chair, brows knitted beneath the blindfold as he lets out a long, guttural moan. 

"It's okay, love, I'll go slow." Lee can hear Richard exhaling audibly. "So tight, Lee, Jesus." 

As promised, Richard takes his time feeling his way around with gentle, shallow thrusts of his finger, gradually deepening his strokes and experimenting with rhythm and angles until the edge of discomfort blurs and eventually disappears altogether. 

The first time Richard's finger crooks just so and brushes against his prostate, Lee is unprepared and his eyes widen in surprise. At the second, firmer pass they roll back into his head, the moan stuck in his throat finds its way out and his whole body jolts as if zapped by electricity. He had completely forgotten how good this can feel, and Richard takes advantage of the moment by slipping another finger in. Slowly but surely he begins to really work Lee open, scissoring his fingers and massaging Lee's prostate with confident, steady rotations that elicit sounds from Lee he doesn't even recognize as coming from his own throat-- crude gasps and voiceless whimpers and the occasional attempt at articulating Richard's name.

And then, just when Lee thinks he can't take any more without blacking out, Richard pulls his fingers halfway out, spreads them inside Lee as wide as he can and licks between them, flicking his tongue experimentally before shoving it in as deep as it will go. Lee shouts, invoking every deity he knows by name, and although he's long since stopped touching himself he is sure that he could come like this, with just Richard's fingers and tongue fucking him in perfect collaboration. 

Someday he would like to try it. Just not right now. 

"S-stop," he gasps, begs, "Rich, stop." 

Richard obeys immediately and pulls out. "Something wrong?" 

He sounds so startled and concerned that Lee turns around - swaying a bit on weak, unsteady legs - reaches down and tugs Richard up by his biceps. With his fingers he maps Richard's chest, feels his way up his throat to eventually cup his jaw and guide their mouths together. Richard is surprisingly shy at first, but Lee soon succeeds in coaxing his mouth open, and the tongue that nudges against his own tastes of the dark, hidden places of his own body. The roaring ache deep in his belly intensifies. 

"I need you," he says thickly, "to fuck me. Right now." 

Richard sucks in a breath. "That is not what you said earlier." 

"I am saying it now." Lee kisses him again, softly, and slides his hands down Richard's arms. He strokes his fingers against the grain of the fuzz on Richard's forearms and is almost sure that he can feel gooseflesh popping up against his fingertips. "Please don't insult me by asking if I'm sure. Fuck me, Richard." 

Richard kisses him and leans his forehead against his. "Okay," he breathes, "bed?" 

Lee nods, stepping back at Richard's guidance until his calves hit the bed and he slowly lowers himself on top of it. He feels a tug on his blindfold. "You still want to keep this on?" 

"Yes, for now." Lee crawls up the bed, tentatively feeling his way around until his fingers encounter the railings of the headboard. Somewhere beside him he hears Richard opening a drawer and rummaging through its contents, then the mattress dips with the other man's weight, and a few moments later, Richard is kneeling between Lee's legs. 

"My god, Lee, you should see yourself right now." Richard's voice has a slightly strangled quality. "You're so bloody sexy, I don't think you even know. And if someone had told me a year ago that one day I would be fucking a gorgeous bloke wearing that scarf as a blindfold, I would've laughed and called them insane." 

Lee smiles and reaches for his cock as it lies hard and hot against his belly, giving it a stroke and listening for Richard's sharp intake of breath. "I think you secretly like it." 

"Nothing secret about it." The unmistakable sound of a foil wrapper tearing, then the click of a lid opening and closing, followed by a smell of artificial fruit. A cold drop of liquid falls on his stomach not far from his throbbing cock, giving him a little jolt. 

"Jesus," Lee sniffs, "is that scented lube?" 

" _Cherry Delight_ ," Richard says. "Why, too frivolous? Do you prefer the non-scented kind?" 

"Baby, it could be mustard-flavored for all I care, so long as it gets your dick in me in the next ten seconds. I just hadn't pegged you as the type." 

Richard chuckles and lifts Lee's legs up by the knees, the blunt, slick head of his cock appearing right where Lee needs it. "I thought you of all people would know not to judge a book by its cover," he says, and with just the slightest push of his hips, he slides in the first few inches. 

They both groan, long and hard, and Lee squeezes his eyes shut beneath the blindfold while Richard pitches forward on his hands. "Oh, Christ, Lee," he moans, steadily pressing deeper, "oh, fuck, you feel incredible." 

Lee grunts in wordless agreement, angling his legs up higher to fold them around Richard's torso. With his hands he goes for Richard's biceps, and for a moment the feel of all that muscular strength between his thighs and under his hands, looming over him and penetrating him threatens to overwhelm him. He hasn't been fucked by anyone like this for quite some time. 

He hasn't trusted anyone enough to let them, until now. 

Once he's fully in, Richard stills for a moment and presses his lips to the curve of Lee's neck, slowly working his way up to his jaw, teasing the lobe of his ear just peeking out from under the blindfold before eventually trailing down to lock lips. Like everything he does with his mouth, Richard's kisses are fantastic and Lee drinks them in like water from a desert well, arching up for even more contact and gasping when his bottom lip is taken into Richard's mouth, licked, sucked and gently bitten. 

"I don't like your face being all covered up," Richard confesses breathily, thumbs teasing at the blindfold. "I want to see your eyes while I fuck you." 

"Just a bit longer," Lee begs, licking his kiss-swollen lip and tasting Richard. 

"That good?" 

"Yeah, it's..." Lee shakes his head, not sure how to explain it in a way that makes sense. "I can taste you in my mouth and hear your breathing and smell the sweat on your skin and that fucking cherry lube on your hands, which is starting to grow on me by the way. I'm just _feeling_ you so much right now." 

"Yeah?" Richard shifts away slightly and waits, leaving Lee guessing for a moment as to what he might do next. When he moves again, it is his mouth that appears at Lee's clavicle, his tongue gliding along the bony ridge. "Do you feel this?" 

Lee's unashamed moan turns into a hiss when Richard seals his lips over the curve of his collarbone and sucks-- softly at first, then considerably harder. "Ah, fuck yes, I feel that." 

One of Richard's hands joins in, briefly cupping Lee's cheek before sliding down his throat, shoulder and chest while his mouth is still occupied with leaving what must be quite an impressive sex bite on Lee's collarbone. Lee can feel cool fingers skimming over burning skin, pausing to rub a nipple, tracing the phoenix' tail down to his hip, where they change direction to follow the natural curve of his belly and finally, close around his hotly throbbing cock. Lee jerks, gasping when Richard's teeth sink into the slope of muscle between his neck and shoulder, right next to the phoenix' head. And there they stay, like a predator's fangs holding down a prey, with the notable difference that Lee is anything but unwilling. Richard's hips roll slowly back, like a wave retreating from the shore, only to surge forward and fill Lee with the first deep thrust. 

"Oh my _god_ ," Lee pants, mouth falling open in an expression of pure rapture, any and all traces of doubt washing away at that first heavy drag of Richard's perfect cock inside him. "Oh my fucking god, _Richard_ \--" 

Richard moans hard into his shoulder, bracing himself on one elbow as he withdraws and pushes back in again, starting a rhythm that slowly builds into something so exquisite that Lee can't help but wonder when sex last felt this good, if it has ever felt this good at all. The pace remains unhurried for a while, ardent yet slow, and Richard's mouth eventually releases Lee's shoulder to travel to other places, tormenting Lee's nipples for a while until they are so raw and sensitive that even Richard's breath on them feels like too much. Lee threads shaking fingers through Richard's hair and tugs him up, searching his mouth with his own. The kiss that follows is somewhat uncoordinated and messy, with colliding teeth and awkward clicking noises, but something so trivial can hardly spoil the mood when Lee is being done like this, with these wondrously precise, deliberate undulations of Richard's pelvis that just won't let up. 

"Please," he gasps with the last of his breath when his lips are released. He hikes his legs up and refolds them around Richard's waist, sliding his hands across Richard's shoulders to claw at his sweaty back. Underneath the blindfold he feels perspiration beading on his own brow as well. "Please, I need more, I need--" The rest of his sentence gets swallowed in a moan when Richard's hips immediately snap into him with more force. 

"You need it harder? Faster?" Even though Lee can't see Richard's smirk, he knows that it is there. "Or both?" 

"Both," Lee groans, blaming the rush of warmth to his face on arousal rather than embarrassment, and he arches his spine to meet Richard's thrusts as they begin to increase in speed. "Yes," he urges, "god, your cock, Rich, so fucking good, Jesus--" 

Richard's hand on Lee's cock, mostly inactive until now, twitches to life and begins stroking him with clever twists of his wrist. Even now that he is fucking Lee more vigorously, every snap of his hips punctuated by a dull smack of skin-on-skin, his control shows no signs of slipping yet, his body movements smooth and rhythmical as though he could keep this up for hours. And as titillating as that notion is, Lee kind of hates him for it. To take matters into his own hands - as far as circumstances permit - he reaches up for the wrought-iron bars of the bed behind him, grabs them and starts pushing himself down on Richard's cock with sinuous twists and clenches of his pelvis whilst digging his heels into Richard's ass to drag him closer. 

"Ah, fuck." Richard lets go of Lee's cock to divide his weight between both elbows, groaning low when Lee's thighs pull him in impossibly deep. "God, Lee, that feels so good. Do you want to flip over?" 

"Like how? On my stomach?" 

"No, I mean like this." Richard rolls over on his back and pulls Lee with him, careful to keep Lee's ass burrowed snugly against his lap so his cock doesn't get the chance to slip out. "Ride me," he says huskily. "Ride me while I watch." 

Lee bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep an shamefully loud moan from escaping. Sitting astride Richard's hips like this, in the certainty that Richard's eyes are blazing paths across his body but not knowing where they are exactly, is at once thrilling and a bit terrifying. Yet he hesitates to take the blindfold off. "Please," he says, taking Richard's hand and guiding it to his chest. "Show me what you are seeing." 

Richard, bless him, instantly gets what Lee is asking and repositions his hand to his shoulder, fingers gently indicating the tender spot where his teeth have left a bruise. "Got you a shiner here." 

Lee smiles. "Owed you one, I guess." He leans back slightly to brace himself on Richard's thighs and begins to sinuously move in his lap, fucking himself on Richard's cock with slow, rhythmical gyrations of his hips while Richard's hand once again goes for the phoenix whose body, wingspan and tail are so cleverly and skillfully placed on the left side of his torso that the beast almost seems to take flight when Lee moves. Ian's work, of course-- the tattoo was always too important to have it done by a lesser god. 

Richard's fingers - representing his eyes - have completed their already familiar journey down the phoenix' tail and skim to the front to grasp Lee's jutting cock. Lee gasps and his pace stutters as he pushes himself eagerly into that sure grip, feeling a callused thumb dipping into the slit and spreading the moisture across the head in a broad, sweeping caress. 

"Looking at your cock now, Lee," he says, moving his hand up Lee's shaft and doing a quick little twist around the head that has Lee's toes curling. "Looking at how it fills my hand, all flushed and shiny at the tip. I can still taste you in my mouth from earlier. Your come tastes so fucking good. Did you like it when I was sucking you off?" 

Lee groans as he lifts himself up and almost off of Richard's cock, clenching all the way. Then he drops back down and fills himself back up in one hard stroke. "Fuck, I loved it, thought that was obvious." 

"Good, because I plan on doing it again, very soon. But next time I want to take you all the way, and really take my time for it. I want to lick you all over and put my fingers inside you and let you fuck my face until you don't know up from down." 

" _Christ_ ," Lee grits out, and he shifts his weight forward to brace himself on Richard's chest instead as he begins riding him in earnest, chasing the telltale heat coiling ominously in his belly. Every bounce and roll of his hips has the head of Richard's cock dragging against his prostate, every slap of their skin together pushes him just that little closer to the edge. He can hear Richard groaning under him but it's not enough, he needs to know - he needs to be absolutely sure - how far behind Richard is. 

So he tears off the blindfold. 

He is wholly unprepared for the sight that greets him when he does-- Richard under him, bright-eyed and shiny-wet with perspiration and sporting a flush that extends from his face down to his chest. He looks just as wrecked as Lee feels, and it is beautiful, and as they stare at each other with Lee moving frantically in Richard's lap and the air between them practically crackling it all quickly comes to a head. Lee never takes his eyes off of Richard's as he sharply arches his back and violently spills all over Richard's hand, stomach and chest. Not exactly at the same time - but close enough - Richard thrusts up into him and comes with a hoarse shout and a full-body shudder that Lee feels under his hands and between his thighs and deep within his belly. 

Even once the moment passes and Lee comes down from the highest peak of euphoria to smell cooling sweat and come and a faint burst of cherry, they are still staring at each other, and in that long, wordless moment of barely-coherent bliss Lee begins to smile, thinking that if he is the first person in the history of the world to have ever gotten off on eye contact, the rest of mankind are definitely missing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to take a moment here and credit/blame eucatastrophe__x for the blindfold prompt. Merci beaucoup!


	19. Blackbird

"So when did you get the phoenix done?" 

Entirely too fucked out to even entertain the idea of a shower or smoke a post-coital cigarette, Lee has cleaned Richard up with tissues as best he could manage (Richard insisted on disposing of the full condom himself) and then curled up snugly at his side. At Richard's tentative prompting, however, lazy cuddling soon turned into an exploration of Lee's tattoos, with Richard's inquisitive fingers dancing across skin and unlocking the last of Lee's secrets with the greatest of ease. Drunk on love, lulled almost into a trance by those gentle caresses, Lee willingly spills them all, laying himself utterly bare in the process without even caring. So far they have covered, among others, the Maori tribal design on his right arm ("strength, perseverance and courage"), the 9-digit number sequence on his ribs ("my student ID number at Juilliard") and the acronym KHSDC in bold font on his inner bicep ("Klein High School Drama Club"). 

"Ah, the phoenix." Lee smiles, keeping his eyes closed in bliss. "I was wondering how long it would take you to get to that one." 

"How so?" 

"Well... I have noticed that you seem rather taken with it, Rich." 

Lee can feel Richard smiling as he burrows his face against his neck and wraps a protective hand around his shoulder, covering the purpling passion mark left by his teeth. "What if I am?" 

"Hey, don't think I'm complaining. That tattoo is one of my great prides; I would be mortified if you hated it." 

"So tell me the story," Richard encourages. 

"I'm about to." Lee chuckles. "You know, for a man as taciturn as you, you get surprisingly chatty when you've gotten laid." 

Richard gives his ear a reproachful nip and for a while they get too distracted kissing to continue with the conversation, until eventually Lee extracts himself with gentle insistence. "The phoenix is a commemorative tattoo," he says, "an anniversary gift to myself." 

"What was the occasion?" 

"Ten years of sobriety. I got the dragon shortly after I got out of rehab, and I wanted the phoenix even then, but I felt that I had to earn it. So I waited ten years, saving the space for it, and believe it or not, the thought of that fucking tattoo really got me through some tough times and helped me stay off the drugs." 

"Of course I can believe that," Richard says softly. "It is a beautifully designed thing, Lee, and I love how it looks on you, but knowing why you got it and what it represents makes it even more meaningful. I never really understood how much personal significance tattoos can have until I met you; I thought they were just pictures, but... they really do tell a story, don't they? They tell the story of your life; who you are, what you have been through and what is important to you." 

Lee nods and kisses him, cupping one side of his face with tenderness. "That is exactly it, Richard. Thank you for saying that; now I know that you get it." 

Richard's hand moves away from the phoenix and settles on the opposite shoulder with its constellation of simple black dots and lines. "What about this one?" 

"It's pretty straightforward," Lee says. "Every dot represents someone who is important to me, and the lines connect them all. This is a tattoo that will keep expanding, at least that's what I hope. See how some dots are more faded than others? These are my parents, my sister and two nieces, Ian of course, Luke and I recently added Evie, look. I let Aidan do it, for practice. He did a good job." 

"I didn't know you had a sister, or two nieces for that matter," Richard says softly. "You never mentioned any family except your parents, so... I assumed you were an only child." 

"No, I have a younger sister, Ann," Lee says. "She does something in publishing and has two little girls. They're still in Texas, like the rest of my family, and they probably always will be. There is no communication, other than the Christmas newsletter my parents still send me every year." 

"Are you... okay with that?" Richard asks carefully. 

Lee shrugs. "I don't know. It's a pretty sad state of affairs, I guess, but I think it's for the best this way. Things got pretty rough during my addiction days; Mom cried the day I dropped out of Juilliard, begged me on the phone not to throw my life away, to go to rehab and get it together. And I--" Lee's voice abandons him unexpectedly and he turns his face away to hide his rapid blinking, but Richard gently captures his chin and kisses his eyes. 

"Go on," he says. "What happened?" 

"I told her to go fuck herself," Lee croaks. "That's when my dad took the phone and hung up. When I was in rehab, my therapists encouraged me to reach out to them, so I wrote them a letter apologizing for everything, telling them that I was going to get clean but that the Juilliard dream was lost for good. I also wrote them that I was gay, which they may have suspected but didn't know for sure. I held on to that letter for two weeks before I found the balls to send it off." 

"Did they write back?" 

"My mother did. She said she wrote on my dad's behalf as well, but I'm not sure if I believe that. The letter said that they wished me a speedy recovery and all the best and that I was welcome to come and stay with them after rehab to reconnect and 'talk about things', which I obviously couldn't do since I had already made a commitment to Ian. It was quite an unfulfilling letter on multiple levels, nothing negative was said but between the lines it was just dripping with disappointment. Since then there's only been contact through Christmas cards; they tried to call me a bunch of times at first, but I never picked up, and eventually the calls stopped. I guess you could say I was holding them off." 

"Why?" 

"Shame, I guess. I was such a disappointment to myself, I couldn't bear the idea of facing theirs as well. They invested so much in me, emotionally and financially, to get me an education, and I went and repaid them by picking up a drug habit and dropping out of fucking Juilliard. Can I blame them for being disappointed? Not really." 

"But you got back on your feet. That is something to take pride in." 

The smile Lee gives him is slightly bitter. "I don't think they'd see it that way. Maybe I'm relatively successful in New York tattoo circles, but down in Texas that doesn't mean shit. Wouldn't look good on the family newsletter, you know? The gay son who went off the rails, that's me." 

"Are you absolutely sure that is how they feel?" 

"I'm as sure as I need to be." Lee leans out of the bed and grabs the pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, lighting one and settling back into Richard's arms. Talking about his parents is more upsetting than he'd anticipated, and smoking calms him. "Anyway, it's been so many years now, no point in trying to mend burnt bridges and dragging it all back up again. To my nieces, I am probably just the mysterious, unseen uncle who lives far away. I think it is better for everyone involved if it stays that way." 

"How old are they?" 

Lee doesn't need to think about it. "Olivia is one and Hannah is four." 

"Lee, that is still young enough to build a relationship with them. You have them tattooed on your body, so don't tell me that's something you don't want deep down inside." 

Lee takes a long drag of his cigarette, and then another, before he responds. "Maybe what I want is irrelevant. Maybe I threw away my chance when I chose the pills over a career in theatre. Maybe those girls are better off not having an ex-junkie for an uncle." 

Richard sighs and props himself up on one elbow, prying the cigarette from Lee's fingers and taking a hit. "You're too hung up on that word 'junkie', Lee, to the point of beating yourself to death with it. You took a wrong turn when you were eighteen and you are still punishing yourself every day for it, when you have accomplished so much since then to be proud of. Okay, you may not have fulfilled your dream of headlining a Broadway show, but you are sober, healthy, doing a job that you enjoy and a genuinely wonderful and talented human being. I think there is every chance that your family would be proud of you for that, if you gave them the chance." 

Lee takes the cigarette back and finishes it, crushing it out thoughtfully. "Are you saying that I should reach out, call them?" The very idea terrifies him. 

"If you miss them, which I think you do, then yes, I think you should at least consider it. Your parents only have one son, and those girls should at least have a chance to know their uncle." 

"I will think about it," Lee says vaguely, more to end the discussion than as an actual promise. He puts the ashtray away before grabbing Richard's wrists, rolling him onto his back and mounting him in one smooth motion. 

Richard smiles up at him, a fond, narrow-eyed smile that tells Lee he's not fooling this man at all. "You're just saying that to shut me up, aren't you?" 

"I'm sorry, Rich. My family is a sensitive point, and it's hard for me to talk about. I will think about it, really, but that is as far as my promise goes for now." 

"Fair enough." Richard tilts his chin up slightly, an invitation for a kiss that Lee is happy to accept. 

"I'm getting one for you as well, you know," Lee murmurs as he gently rubs his own smooth cheek against Richard's prickly beard. 

"You're getting what for me?" 

"A tattoo." Lee sits up and points at the constellation on his shoulder that started this conversation. "You're going in there as well." 

"Are you serious?" The look Richard gives him surprises Lee, or rather the depth of emotion in it does. 

"Of course I'm serious. I told you, it's for the important people in my life. Don't you think you fall into that category?" Richard's unwavering, wide-eyed stare has Lee chuckling nervously. "Say something, Rich. Are you pleased? Are you freaking out? You haven't changed your mind about sticking around, have you? Because if you have, I would prefer if you told me before I got any ink done." 

Richard shakes his head. "I'm not going to change my mind." He reaches out, cups the back of Lee's neck and pulls him back down for a kiss that starts as a heated press of lips, but soon one of them - Lee can't tell who - ups the stakes with a flick of a tongue and suddenly they fall right back into a frenzy of wet, hungry kisses that inevitably lead to even more kissing and caressing and blood rushing south so fast that Lee feels lightheaded with it. He spreads himself out on top of Richard to shamelessly rub himself against the other man's swelling cock. Richard tolerates it for a few moments, kissing and biting Lee's neck as he massages his buttocks, but patience soon runs out and he flips Lee over on his back. 

They waste no time talking or hashing out the details, because it seems that there is no need. Within moments Richard has a new condom on and Lee scrabbles for the lube and lathers it on thick and damn if the smell of that stuff doesn't trigger some sort of Pavlovian response and get him even harder than he already is. And then Richard bends his knees back to his chest and pushes in and _oh_ \-- what follows feels so right, so welcome, that Lee can't imagine going another day without this. 

By all rights, that thought should scare him a lot more than it actually does. 

Later, after they have disposed of the fresh evidence and settled into a lazy, if somewhat sticky embrace, Richard murmurs a confession into Lee's sex-mussed hair. "I don't want you to leave." 

Lee smiles in tired contentment, keeping his head right where it is, burrowed against Richard's chest where he can feel the other man's heartbeat against his cheek. "Oh believe me, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. I'm comfortable right where I am." 

"Good." Richard moves his hand from Lee's shoulder to gently stroke his hair. "But I probably should have expressed myself a little more clearly. What I mean is that I never want you to leave. Or, shit, that came off sounding incredibly creepy, didn't it? Of course you can leave, I just want you to always come back." Richard's embarrassed little chuckle reverberates against Lee's cheek. "God, I'm trying to make a point here but I'm just piling one blunder on top of another, aren't I? I'm sorry. Please say something so I can shut up for a bit." 

From the way his steady heartbeat has sped up to a more frantic rhythm while he spoke, Lee can tell that Richard is nervous, so he props himself up this time to gaze into blue eyes full of sincerity and affection. 

Everything he needs to know is right there in those eyes, really. And Lee would be lying if he said that what Richard is proposing doesn't send a rush of warmth and joy through his veins like adrenaline. 

And yet. And yet. 

To relieve Richard's almost palpable anxiety, Lee lifts his hand to his face and caresses it with the backs of his fingers. "Are you sure of what you're asking here, Richard? Have you taken a minute to really think this through?" 

"More than a minute, actually," Richard replies, covering Lee's fingers with his own and pressing his cheek against them. "It's all I can think about since last Wednesday. Hasn't it crossed your mind at all?" 

Lee nods slowly. "Yes, I guess it has. But it's soon, Rich. Many would say too soon. Technically we've only been on one date, two if you count tonight. And technically I may be homeless but I'm not sure if moving in with you at breakneck speed is a sensible thing to do. I don't want you to feel like you have to swoop in and save me." 

"That is not what this is about at all." Richard sits up a bit and rearranges the pillows behind him. "Lee, just in case I didn't make myself sufficiently clear, I am in love with you." 

Lee flushes and feels his heart doing a happy little quickstep. Softly he says, "And I'm in love with you. I have been since the night of the premiere." 

The beaming smile Richard gives him lights up his eyes in a way that almost, almost wipes out Lee's doubts on the spot. "So, we're dating, you need a place to live, and I have this apartment with space for two and possibly a small dog." 

Lee smiles at that vision. "I grew up with dogs." 

"I know, you told me. So from where I'm standing, it makes all the sense in the world for you to move in. You can chip in on the rent and grocery money if that helps ease your conscience, hell, we can even split laundry duty. And if for whatever reason things start going south, you could always resume apartment hunting and go back to crashing at Evie's in the meantime." 

Lee allows himself to picture it for a few moments-- no more scanning the apartment listings, no more unsuccessful viewings in part of New York he'd never even consider if he wasn't so damn desperate, but more importantly: going to sleep next to Richard every night, lazy Sunday mornings in bed, watching TV curled up on the couch together... He groans. "God, Richard, it sounds like a fucking sweet deal." 

"Then what is the problem?" 

Lee sighs. "The problem is that I've done the breakneck speed thing before, and it turned out to be a mistake every time." 

"You mean with Luke?" 

"Yes, with Luke... and others. Well, one other to be exact." 

Richard scrutinizes Lee for a long, thoughtful moment. "Can you tell me more?" 

Lee takes another, bracing sigh and leans down to nuzzle Richard's chest, dropping a kiss right over his heart. "Yes, if you promise not to freak out." 

"Okay, I promise." 

"And please, don't pity me. The last thing I want is your pity." 

Richard brows draw together, and Lee can see him getting concerned for what might be another bombshell; but in Lee's mind, Juilliard was by far the biggest, most shameful secret of all. All the rest pales in comparison to that. "I can't promise that, Lee, but I can promise that I will try." 

"Fair enough." Lee takes a breath and tells the story in one long exhalation. "So, after dropping out of Juilliard I sank into a hole so deep that I wouldn't have seen an out even if you had waved it right in front of my face. I had no job, no money, and all I could think of was my next fix. Coughing up the rent obviously became a problem, so I was evicted. My car had been totaled in the accident and I had sworn never to drive or own a car again, so I took to the streets, panhandled my way around for a week or two. And then I met Eric." 

Richard gives no sign of interrupting, so Lee plunges on in an emotionless tone, as if he were talking about someone else. "Eric was... an older guy. Certainly old enough to be my dad. He was gay of course, lonely, didn't have any kids to care for. Really quite sad. So, long story short, he took me in, like a Good Samaritan, right? Except there were certain... expectations involved that my junkie self was happy to meet in exchange for shelter, food and drug money. I mean, of course it was disgusting, and looking back at it now boggles my mind, but when you're that far gone, you really don't care what you have to do to get your high. 

"It took a few months for the situation to go from bad to really fucking messed up. Eric decided that he wasn't going to settle for blowjobs anymore and started nagging me relentlessly to get me to sleep with him. When that didn't work, he started withholding money. And when _that_ didn't work quickly enough, he threatened to call my parents, who had no idea where I was or how low I had sunk. So I caved, gave him what he wanted. At first it wasn't even quite so horrible, because he let me get high before doing his thing. He would undress me, whisper all kinds of sweet nonsense about how much he loved me, it was really bizarre how deluded he was. The most disgusting part of it all was how he would run his hands all over me and hold me afterwards like he owned me, knowing how much I fucking hated it, especially when the high wore off. But it was all part of the unspoken agreement between us, fucked up as it was. Companionship and the illusion of love in exchange for drugs. 

"The emotional abuse was a gliding scale with Eric. Before long he started insisting on holding hands and kissing in public, and after a while he didn't want to do the gentlemanly thing anymore and wait for me to get high, he just wanted to fuck me whenever he felt like it, and preferably without a condom. I honestly can't count the number of times I considered slipping him an overdose. It would have been so easy; I even had the cocktail all picked out. But for some reason, and to this day I have no clue what it was, I never acted on it, and thank god for that. In the end I simply walked out the door one day and never looked back. So I was back living on the street again scraping for money, but at least I could scratch systematic rape off my list of problems. So that's where I was at when I eventually met Ian, and, well, the rest you know." 

It has been a while since he last recounted the story in full, and by the time Lee reaches the end of it - a little breathless from rattling off the sad sequence of events - he realizes that he hasn't looked at Richard even once while he was talking, when it was for his benefit that he was dredging up the tale in the first place, and that Richard hasn't so much as given a peep throughout. 

And then he looks up with a sinking feeling and realizes - too late, much and much too late - what an ass he is, because Richard is staring at him with his fist pressed to his mouth and with eyes like saucers, crying-- big, silent, salty tears of sorrow.


	20. Nightingale

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. 

Guilt-stricken by the sight of Richard's tears - not to mention his own callousness in not having anticipated this outcome - Lee scrambles up in a rush to gently pry Richard's hand away from his trembling mouth, uncurling the bent fingers and clasping them with his own. "Oh, no, no, Richard, please don't," he pleads, solicitously wiping the moist tracks from Richard's cheeks only to see more tears welling up and spilling heavily from his eyelashes. "Please don't cry, baby, please, don't cry for me. I'm okay now, I promise, I'm okay. Please..." 

Richard shakes his head, unable to speak as he struggles for control of his voice and seems to be desperately trying to do as Lee asks and rein the raw emotion back in. But for all his attempts at self-restraint, his shoulders are jolting and his body curls in on itself, racked by quiet sobs that become increasingly more violent in nature. The helplessness and anguish he exudes are agonizing to watch, so Lee eventually abandons his pleading to simply tuck him in his arms and rock him instead, letting let him cry it out in his own time. 

Richard's reaction makes him wonder. Is he really so detached from his own feelings, so numbed by what has happened to him that he could not have foreseen how profoundly it would affect Richard? He feels absolutely nothing when he thinks of Eric; is that odd or simply the healthy result of the many hours of therapy he's clocked over the years? Shouldn't he at least be feeling a measure of regret, or disgust, or some other appropriate sentiment? Yet there is a complete absence of emotion where Eric is concerned, and for some reason he finds it so much harder and more shameful to talk about his academic failure than about the drugs, the homelessness and the months of emotional and physical abuse he went through at the tender age of nineteen. 

Richard eventually extracts himself, wiping furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand. "This isn't right," he says hoarsely, tone full of self-reproach. "I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around." 

"But I don't need any comforting," Lee tells him gently, stroking damp hair away from his forehead. "I've left it behind me, Rich; I've had fifteen years and a fuckton of therapy to make my peace with it. I'm sorry for springing it on you like that, that was thoughtless and I should have known better." 

Richard reaches up and cradles one side of Lee's face in his hand, joining their foreheads together. "Why didn't you say anything?" he whispers brokenly, "Lee, why in god's name didn't you tell me this sooner, before we-- before you and I--" 

Before he can finish, Lee swiftly covers Richard's lips with his fingers. "No, shush," he says firmly, "don't even let that thought in, Rich. That look that you're giving me right now? That is exactly the reason why I waited to tell you. Because what happened all those years ago shouldn't hold any sway over what goes on between us, and I didn't want you to treat me any differently. And I don't want you to treat me differently now that you do know. I am still the same person I was ten minutes ago, and I wanted every fucking thing that happened tonight, okay? Every single one." 

"But I could have been more careful. I wouldn't have agreed to the blindfold. I mean I--" Richard's eyes widen slightly in fear. "God, Lee, what if I had accidently touched you a certain way and triggered a memory--" 

"Richard, before you finish that thought, let me ask you a question. Do you trust me?" 

Richard knits his brows. "Trust you? Of course I do. What does that--" 

"Then please, trust me when I say that I knew what I was doing when I told you what I wanted." Lee pauses to let silence enforce his statement. Then he sighs and continues, "Did I walk away from that experience with a phobia and more than a few memories I would much rather forget? Yes. But I can still enjoy sex, Rich. Under the right circumstances and with the right person, I can even enjoy it a whole lot, and both those requirements were met tonight. And it was every bit as amazing as I thought it would be, so please, don't torture yourself with these what ifs." 

Richard worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he considers Lee's words, red-rimmed eyes fixed on their joined hands. The flow of tears has stopped, but the emotion is still there on his face, exposed like a raw nerve. "Sometimes I wondered," he confesses softly. "The way you froze up in certain situations, and seemed to be more comfortable being in control sexually-- I wondered if it had anything to do with previous experiences. But never in a million years would I have guessed the extent of it. Jesus Christ, Lee, how old were you when this went down? Nineteen? Twenty?" 

"Nineteen," Lee confirms. "Eric was almost thirty years older. Not a bad-looking guy either, fit for his age. Just lonely and totally screwed up in the head. I wonder what became of him; I haven't seen him since the day I walked out with all of his cash." 

Richard's expression darkens, transforming his face into something Lee almost doesn't recognize. "If there is any justice in the world, he's probably rotting in a cell somewhere. And if not... if he's somewhere out there and I happen to cross paths with this scumbag, so help me god I'll have some justice of my own." 

"God, Richard, don't say things like that." Lee frowns, surprised to see these fierce protective instincts awakening in Richard. The anger smoldering in those eyes is something Lee has previously only seen during his performances on stage. "You're not thinking of tracking him down and pulling some kind of vigilante bullshit, are you? Because the only thing that would accomplish is you getting arrested on assault and battery charges, and I don't even need to explain what that would do to your career, do I?" 

"Did you ever press charges on _him_?" 

"Didn't see the point." Lee shrugs. "I wasn't exactly an innocent victim in that situation, Richard. In fact, I think I was using him in much the same way he was using me, wringing the guy dry for every penny he had and then some. I was basically whoring myself out for drugs, let's not mince words here. And on some level, I think I knew exactly what I was doing." 

"Jesus Christ!" Richard exclaims, giving Lee a start with this sudden outburst. "How can you even say that? How can you-- You were nineteen, for crying out loud-- _nineteen_. And you were homeless and on drugs and an easy target for perverted creeps like him. You can bet that he singled you out for that exact reason, because that's how his kind operates, preying on the weak. And yet you sit here telling me that what you did was on par with... with..." He stumbles on the word. 

Lee doesn't. "With rape," he finishes calmly. "You don't have to be afraid to use the word, Richard, I know that is exactly what happened to me." 

Richard gives him a sorrowful look, throat bobbing suspiciously as he seems to balance on the verge of tearing up again. His next words have to fight their way out of his mouth. "When he put his filthy hands on you - insisted that you slept with him - did you have... I mean were you..." 

"A virgin?" Richard gives a tense nod, and Lee sighs. After nearly three semesters at Juilliard, a place overflowing with young gay men exploring their sexuality, he certainly hadn't been white as snow. Grinding and groping at the clubs, blowjobs in bathroom stalls, even the odd finger or two, he'd done all that. But he knows that is not what Richard is asking. "Does it really matter?" 

The evasiveness of the answer tells Richard enough, and his face twists in sadness and pain as a fresh tear slips from the corner of one eye. "Goddamnit, Lee," he whispers, balling his hands into helpless, white-knuckled fists, "this piece of shit had better hope that I never lay eyes on him, because the moment I do--" 

"Don't be stupid," Lee chides, making sure to soften the words by cupping Richard's face between his hands and tenderly wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "I told you about Eric because I don't want to keep secrets from you anymore, but the time that he was even a blip on my radar is far behind me. It's not a chapter I'm proud of, but it's part of my story and I have learned to accept that. I hope you can, too. And I really hope this doesn't change the way you feel about me-- about us." 

"Of course it doesn't." Richard sighs, sagging a bit as the worst of his anger fades at Lee's coaxing. "I don't think anything could change my mind about you. It's just a shock, Lee, and I need to let it sink in before I can follow your admirable example and be rational and calm about this." 

"That's okay," Lee says softly. "Believe me, it took me a while to climb out of that hole, and it was very lonely and dark on the way up. But as soon as I started seeing the light again, I went out and got these." He shows Richard his inner forearms, with the Dickinson tattoo on the right and its twin, a quote in foreign characters, on the left. The latter is one they haven't discussed before. 

"What language is that, Hindi?" Richard rubs the last of the tears from his eyes and appears to pull himself together somewhat. "What does it say?" 

" _Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong_. Gandhi," Lee clarifies. "Words that I try to live by every day, though on some days I'm more successful at it than others." 

"And have you? Forgiven..." Richard makes a face as if he's swallowed something bitter. "... _him_?" 

"It's still a work in progress," Lee answers truthfully. "Maybe it always will be. But to be honest the quote applies as much to myself as to anyone else. I've done some dumb shit." He looks at Richard, who is gazing at the tattoo and gently, absently stroking it with his thumb. "Hey," he says, brushing Richard's cheek with his index finger and crooking it under his chin to tilt his head up. "Are you okay?" 

"You're asking _me_ that?" Richard manages a miniscule smile, takes Lee's fingers and presses them to his lips. "Is this really the last of your secrets, Lee? Because if it's not, if you're planning on dropping more bombshells like that, I'm going to have to prepare myself somehow-- so I don't end up blubbering all over you again." 

"It's the last, I promise." Lee smiles back. "Although if you're serious about me moving in I should probably tell you that I have a habit of taking very long showers. So if hot water is something you appreciate then you will either have to start sneaking out of bed early or take joint showers with me." 

The gentle jest succeeds in cajoling more of a solid smile from Richard. "I suppose we'll squabble about the details if and when we have to." A tentative pause. "So... does that mean you _are_ moving in?" 

"Do you still want me to?" 

"Of course I still want you to." Richard looks shocked that Lee would even think otherwise. "But it's your call, Lee. If you feel it's too soon, if you'd rather find your own place and take things more slowly, then that is exactly what you should do." 

Lee sighs, long and deep. "It's incredibly tempting, Richard. I like Chelsea, I like your place and I really fucking like you, but that's exactly why I'm hesitating. You're special to me, and I really, really don't want to fuck this up by making any rash decisions. I mean, we wouldn't even be having this conversation if it weren't for the fact that I'm currently drifting, would we?" 

"Probably not." Richard takes Lee's hands in his own. "Okay, here's what I propose. Do you still have the key to my apartment, the one I left under the mat?" 

"Yes, I think I tucked it into one of my pockets." 

"Good. Keep it," Richard says, answering Lee's confused look with a smile. "Let's start there. Keep the key, come and stay whenever you want, leave and stay at Evie's whenever you want, bring a box of stuff over if and when you're ready. It can be a... transitional thing. Just take all the time you need, okay? Really think about it before you decide. I don't care how long it takes." He guides one of Lee's hands to his face and kisses the inside of his wrist. "Would that work? What do you think?" 

Lee bites his lip and nods, shivering a bit at the soft scratch of Richard's beard against tender skin. "Yeah, I think I could do that, definitely. Just one question, though." 

"Okay, ask away." 

"Can we keep our next date as low-key and informal as possible? I don't mind pulling out my best shirt and a clean pair of pants, but..." 

Richard chuckles. "No more bow ties?" 

"Not for a while." 

"Done," Richard promises. "You can choose where we go next time, okay? Just name it, we'll do it." 

"Anything at all?" Lee asks, the beginnings of a grin taking shape on his face. 

Richard groans softly. "I have a feeling I'll come to regret this, but yes, anything at all. Why? Do you have something in mind already?" 

"Nothing specific yet, but I sure am going to enjoy weighing my options." Lee leans in and nudges Richard's nose with his own before joining their lips together in a soft, simple kiss. "Oh, and Richard?" 

"Mmm?" 

"For future reference... just how serious were you about the dog?"


	21. Cockatoo

_four weeks later_

As he slowly sinks into the back office desk chair, staring at the phone in his hand long after the screen has gone on standby, Lee wonders with a heavy sinking feeling why this keeps happening to him when he's at work. 

_Well at least it wasn't a voicemail message this time. At least you're not living with the guy, although you got pretty damn close_. He wants to laugh but the sound ripping from his throat sounds suspiciously like a sob instead. 

_Oh come on-- it's not like this is in any way unexpected. Whatever fancies you had, you always knew how this would end. More the fool you if you thought the tattoo would make a difference._

He reaches for his shoulder, thoughtlessly touching the spot where he knows the latest addition to be-- a simple black dot among the several peppered across his shoulder and webbed together by thin, straightforward lines. The ink is barely dry on this one, but even though his heart is crushed Lee already knows that he won't regret getting it; he has never regretted a tattoo, and he has been happier these past two months than he'd ever thought possible. For that reason alone they deserve to be immortalized on his body. 

Yet, selfishly, he cannot help but wish reality would have waited a bit longer to catch up. 

Following the night of the fundraiser, they'd had a few perfect, carefree weeks of dating bliss. _Vincent_ 's original five-week run had been extended due to its success, however the number of performances had been brought back to four per week, which freed up a fair amount of time in Richard's schedule. As a result, they were able to keep their promise to Cate and see a Saturday matinee of _A Streetcar Named Desire_ at the Lyceum. Afterwards, they'd picked up some fresh takeout sandwiches and discussed the play they'd just seen as they strolled down sunny Broadway without a care in the world. 

When they weren't working, they were rarely apart, and the nights that Lee spent at Evie's place became fewer and farther in between, a development Evie good-humoredly snarked about once or twice only to hug him immediately after and tell him that she just wanted him to be happy (and have a ton of mind-blowing sex, she added with a none-too-subtle eyebrow wiggle). 

And god, he was. (And god, he did.) 

As the ultimate act of support, Richard had accompanied Lee when he went to return his tux and beguiled the shop owner with a few words of Italian he'd picked up during a summer course in Florence when he was seventeen. Such was her infatuation that she didn't even seem to notice the grease stain in the jacket sleeve and only frowned at the two forgotten cigarettes Cate had slid into the breast pocket. She clucked over Richard like a mother hen, complimented him on the fine tailored cut of his shirt and jacket (Lee's cargo pants went ignored) and then asked a question Lee didn't understand, but Richard's responding blush was met by more maternal cooing and excited hand fluttering. 

"What was that all about?" Lee asked as they stepped out into the street, blinking and squinting their eyes against the burst of sunlight that seemed all the brighter after the gloomy interior of the shop. 

Richard grinned as he slid his sunglasses on. "My Italian is pretty rusty, but I think she asked if we were a couple. And she gave me this." He showed Lee a flyer detailing the wedding party services the shop provided. 

"Subtle." Lee laughed, reaching for Richard's hand and feeling his heart flutter at the easy way their fingers linked together. They'd walked to the nearest subway station hand in hand and tossed the flyer in the first bin they saw. 

In terms of Richard's career they were good weeks as well. Philippa had been busy and sent him some interesting new scripts to pore over, and he and Lee spent many a late night (or lazy morning) in bed discussing the roles and rehearsing scenes in preparation for several auditions that Richard went on. One or two in particular seemed promising, and Richard called Lee after each one, nattering his ear off about how it had gone, what the casting people had said and how hopeful he was for a possible callback. _Vincent_ had been good to him but he was starting to look ahead, to get excited for what was next, and Lee loved seeing him like that, loved seeing the light in Richard's eyes and the quickness of his smile and the confident little swagger in his step whenever they walked down the street together. 

And there was more good news. A few weeks after the fundraiser, Richard - through Philippa of course -received a letter from the Foundation for Young Talent in Theatre thanking him for his impassioned speech and charitable private donation and would he be willing to accept an ambassadorship for the foundation? Richard talked about it with Lee for ten minutes before calling Philippa, who answered her phone on the very first ring and launched into a happy spiel about how pleased she was for him. Lee could hear her twittering on the other end of the line and smiled at the mock-exasperated look Richard gave him as he held the phone several inches from his ear. It was a few minutes before Richard could get a word in edgewise and actually tell her that he was accepting the offer, which was followed by an embarrassed silence on her end. 

"Yeah... No, it's okay, Philippa, really. I'm loving your excitement. Yeah, I agree it's a wonderful cause to support. We'll hash out the details later... what? Celebrate how? Dinner at Alfredo's? Uh, you know I'm not one to turn down a good risotto, Phil, but I've already got plans for tonight. With Lee, yeah. He's here right now, actually. Yes, _again_. Yes, of course I told him, he was here when I got the letter. Let's not go into this again, Philippa; I think I've made my position sufficiently clear. E-mail me a few dates that would be good for you and I'll take care of the reservations. Yes. Uh huh. Okay. Okay. Bye." 

Richard hung up the phone with a sigh and gave Lee an apologetic look. "Sorry about that." 

Lee shook his head and smiled to let him know it was okay. "She's not warming up to me, is she?" 

"She will," Richard said, resolute in his optimism. (Whether that optimism was realistic was another matter entirely.) "Give her a little more time. She just needs to come around to the fact that I have a personal life now and that she gets no say in it." 

"I'm sure you had a personal life before, too." 

"It didn't feel like it. Especially in the _Crucible_ days, I was living like a bloody monk. That play swallowed me up, body and soul, for three months. And even after the run ended, Proctor followed me around for a good long while, like a thundercloud hanging over my head. I think I scared quite a few people just walking down the block with my angry face on, so I wasn't exactly charming the pants off of a lot of people." 

Lee scooted closer on the couch and lifted his hand to gently stroke his fingers through Richard's hair. "Well, you certainly charmed the pants off of me." 

"I'm still not quite sure how that happened, actually." 

"Blame it on my soft spot for tall, brooding men. With gorgeous blue eyes," he added, just for the pleasure of seeing Richard blush, "and heaps of talent, because there is more to love about you than just your body." 

Richard groaned with mortification and put his hands on Lee's waist, pulling him into an upright position and on top of his lap. "Are you taking the piss with me?" 

"I wouldn't dare take the piss with you, baby," Lee drawled, in the full knowledge that the thicker he laid the accent on, the stronger Richard's response was and the more Lee's chances of being pinned down on the bed - or on the couch, or against the wall - and being fucked into oblivion increased. The effect of Richard's accent on Lee was just as strong, by the way, but Lee didn't think that Richard quite realized that yet. In fact, it was perplexing just how oblivious he was to his sex appeal in general. No matter how many times Lee told him how fucking sexy he was, Richard never got any less flustered when it came to these compliments, either responding with a dismissive shrug or a self-deprecating joke. 

Lee now leaned his torso flush against the other man's as he grabbed the back of the couch and let Richard's hands tug his hips down, so that his ass slotted neatly into Richard's lap and he felt the insistent press of a cock beneath several layers of clothing. 

"God, Richard," he moaned as Richard pulled his head down and sucked marks down his neck, "you insatiable beast. I really thought that blowjob earlier would have wiped you out for the rest of the day." 

Richard snorted at that and licked at a particularly enthusiastic bite his teeth had left. "It was a bloody good blowjob, love, but it will take more than that to wipe me out." 

"Damn, baby." Lee rubbed their foreheads together and kissed the gentle swell of Richard's bottom lip before regretfully pulling away. "Wish we had time for a roll in the hay, but it'll have to wait until after our date." 

"What date?" 

"The one we're going on this afternoon. The super secret surprise date you put me in charge of." 

"You didn't tell me that was today." 

Lee smiled. "That's part of the surprise. Any objections?" 

"To going out with you? Quite the opposite. I just wish I hadn't let myself get in this state." 

"Put an ice pack on it." Lee chuckled and kissed Richard's offended scowl away before moving out of his lap. "I promise to make it up to you later." 

Richard had been puzzled at first when Lee kicked off their date by bringing him to the tattoo shop and introducing him to his coworkers, but when Lee took off his shirt and sat down in the chair that normally his clients sat in, understanding hit him all at once and he flushed to the tips of his ears. "Oh shit, Lee, you're actually doing this _today_? Right now?" 

"Yep, it's happening." Lee nodded at Evie, who came forward with the disinfectant. She was substituting as an apprentice since Aidan would be tattooing, always a nerve-wracking moment for an apprentice, especially if the 'client' happened to be the tutor. 

"Lee." Richard approached the chair and brushed his hand over Lee's bare shoulder. "Look at me, love. Are you sure you don't want to think about it a bit longer, save it for a special occasion maybe?" 

"Every day with you is special," Lee told him earnestly and without sentiment. "I am so happy and so grateful to have met you. Whatever happens after today, I will have a tattoo to look at and remember this feeling by. I don't need time to think about that, Richard." 

Richard's eyes grew a bit moist as Lee spoke, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "I love you," he said softly. 

"I love you too," Lee responded, and it was only after the words left his lips that he realized it was the first time they had said them. Richard sat down in the extra chair and prepared to watch, giving Evie a look of confusion when she handed him a marker and told him to pick a spot. "Pick a spot? What for?" 

Evie shot Lee a glance that spoke volumes on what she was thinking. _Clueless, but adorable_. 

"For the tattoo, sweetie," she told him. "Just a little dot will do." 

Richard turned a questioning gaze on Lee, as if expecting him to start laughing and confirm that it was in fact a joke, but Lee just nodded at him and waited. "Lee, I can't make this decision," he protested, "it's your body." 

"Yes, it's my body, and I'm putting you in charge of the decision." Lee gestured at his right shoulder. "Don't overthink it. You've got a few options here, just pick one." 

Richard uncapped the marker and nearly dropped it from his klutzy fingers. "Talk about putting someone on the spot, Lee, Jesus." He surveyed the territory for a good long while, and Lee watched him closely, seeing Richard's initial expression of indecisiveness and slight panic slowly fade, only to be replaced by an almost uncharacteristically mischievous smile. He leaned closer and marked a spot just above the ridge of Lee's clavicle, right over the slight discoloration of an old, fading hickey, much fainter than the fresh love bites on his neck. 

"Cheeky," Lee breathed, surprised and delighted by Richard's playful choice. "Very cheeky." 

The rest of the preparations didn't take much time, nor did the tattoo itself. The two straight lines that were needed to link Richard's tattoo to the others actually provided the greatest challenge for Aidan, but Lee calmly coached him through it. Richard just observed in that quiet, attentive way of his, their joined left hands resting on top of his knee. 

The tattoo was just about done when they heard the loud, familiar roar of a motorcycle outside and Ian walked in half a minute later. His visit was, as always, unexpected, but for some reason Lee wasn't really surprised that he'd chosen today of all days to drop by. He looked the same as always-- not a day older or younger than when they'd first met, hair in a ratty ponytail, dressed in grey denim from head to toe. He hugged Evie and made a comment about her new hair color - fuchsia - then came over to see Aidan put in the final touches, making him so nervous that he had to pause and collect himself for a moment. Lee's own days as an apprentice were not so far behind him that he didn't remember that paralyzing feeling of incompetence whenever the master was near, but Aidan came through for him, looking visibly relieved when it was done and blushing with pleasure at the compliments he received for a job well done. 

Richard had gotten up then and let go of Lee's hand to introduce himself. "You must be Ian. I've heard a lot about you. I'm Richard." 

Ian smiled pleasantly and shook his hand, sizing the other man up none too subtly. "Well, I've been wondering why Lee has been taking so many nights off lately, but this explains everything. It's good to finally meet you, Richard." 

"Ian," Lee warned, "don't start." 

"Don't start with what? You have been missing in action a lot lately, and I'm glad to know it was for a good reason. Believe me, if I was a young man and had to choose between work and a date with a tall, strapping specimen like this, I would do the exact same thing." 

Lee saw Richard blushing and groaned in embarrassment. "Ian, you're terrible. Quit flirting with my date before he goes running for the hills. I just got a tattoo for him, for Christ's sake." 

"Hm, yes." Ian finally let go of Richard's hand. "A bit premature, I find, but it's your body, Lee, and your choice. No offense to you, Richard, because you're absolutely dreamy, but you will understand why I'm wary. I don't want to see my boy Lee get hurt." 

"We share the same interest, then," Richard said, "because I don't want that to happen either." 

"Don't be such a negative nelly, Ian," Evie chided. "Lee is happy and they're adorable and they're going on a date later, please don't ruin it for them." 

Ian smiled at her. "Fine, dear girl, I'll keep my judgmental tongue inside my head. Tell me about this date. Where are you two youngsters going?" 

"I actually don't know," Richard said. "Lee is in charge of this one, and he's keeping the secret." 

"Actually I might as well tell you now," Lee said casually. "There's this new all-gay strip club on 6th that I keep hearing about, thought we might pop in and see if it's worth all the buzz." 

The look of absolute horror that came to Richard's face was so exquisitely enjoyable that Lee almost burst out laughing then and there. There was in fact no new strip club on 6th, and even if there was, it was much too early in the day for it to be open. The rest of the crew, unlike Richard, immediately saw through the joke and jumped on the bandwagon, inventing a risqué name for the imaginary club and asking Richard if he had plenty of 1 dollar bills in his wallet. It took a few minutes for Richard to figure out that they were poking fun at him and that Lee was, in fact, not taking him to see male strippers in the middle of the day. 

Instead, Lee had taken him to one of his favorite places-- a bird sanctuary, a green oasis in the middle of the concrete jungle where injured, abandoned or unwanted birds were brought for rehabilitation and kept in spacious, leafy enclosures. Many of the birds were tame enough to be handled, especially former pets like songbirds and parrots, and there was one longtime resident that Lee was particularly fond of, a yellow-crested cockatoo named Betty that had been rescued from an animal hoarder's house some years previously. Lee had spent many an hour at the sanctuary teaching her words, including his own name, and although he hadn't visited in a while she greeted him with many happy whistles and screeches. Richard was surprisingly wary at first, claiming that he and birds hadn't gotten along since a seagull snatched an ice cream from his hand when he was four years old and holidaying by the seaside with his family, but after some gentle coaxing from Lee he seemed to warm up to Betty and let her sit on his arm in the end, letting her eat peanuts from his hand and endeavoring to teach her his name with moderate success. 

Afterwards, they'd sat by the owl enclosure for what felt like hours, talking, Lee nestled comfortably against Richard's side as he doodled in his sketchbook the way he often did when he came here alone. 

"This is nice, Lee," Richard said. "I feel like I could sit here for the rest of the day and not need anything else." 

Lee smiled. "Better than strippers?" 

"Definitely better than strippers. It was good meeting your friends at work, too. Ian's quite the character. Do you know he actually gave me a private little talking to when you were getting your tattoo bandaged?" 

"I figured he might." Lee groaned. "He didn't make any threats, did he?" 

"Not at all. He just expressed concern for you, and I think he wanted to get a feel of how serious I am about this relationship. I told him that it is without exaggeration the best thing to have happened to me in a long time, and that I'd be a fool to squander it." 

"And?" 

"And I'm not planning to be a fool." Richard nuzzled the top of Lee's head for a moment and then suddenly asked, "What is that?" 

"What is what?" Lee, who had been thoughtlessly flipping through the past few weeks' worth of drawings and sketches, realized his mistake and quickly tried to turn the page, but Richard laid a hand on his wrist and studied the collection of drawings that had caught his eye. 

The first one dated from the night of the premiere and showed Richard as Theo van Gogh, sitting despondently on a chair with his shoulders hunched forward and his elbows on his knees. Many others had followed after that, some complete portraits, some partials - an eye here, a mouth there, several pairs of hands so detailed that the placement of veins and bones was visible underneath the skin. It had gotten so quiet that all Lee could hear was the other man's breathing. 

Richard reached out to turn the page. "May I?" 

Lee nodded, biting his lip nervously as the next page was revealed. Again, it was scrawled full of portraits of Richard, smiling, frowning, kissing Cate while in character as Proctor, rubbing his chin that way he did. But the drawing Lee was most anxious about was one he'd put on the page early one morning, after he woke up to find Richard sleeping on his back beside him, the sheet kicked all the way off him during the night to reveal every glorious inch of him, including a few extra ones between his legs. Despite this, Lee liked to think that it was a tasteful nude, but it was a nude nonetheless and he really wasn't sure how Richard would react to being portrayed that way without his knowledge. 

"Oh my god, Lee," Richard breathed, "I had no idea. I had no idea you were watching me this closely." 

"I hope you're not offended?" Lee asked in a small voice. 

"Offended? No, I'm amazed. Amazed by your talent." Richard flipped to the next page. Even more nudes and semi nudes here, and Lee flushed when he saw one particular portrait that he'd never meant Richard to lay eyes on. 

He had some explaining to do. 

Richard pulled the sketchbook a little closer. "You drew me with tattoos," he said, in a thoughtful tone that suggested intrigue rather than displeasure. 

"Only to entertain myself," Lee confessed, still blushing. "I was sketching and... well, I just wondered how they would look on you, that's all. Please don't take it the wrong way. I love your body just as it is, you know that, don't you?" 

"Of course I do." Richard studied the drawings for another minute before handing the sketchbook back to Lee. "How about we go home?" 

"Home?" Lee looked at him in bewilderment. "This early? I thought we might grab a bite to eat somewhere first--" He trailed off when he realized how dark Richard's eyes had suddenly become and swallowed slowly. "Although... I suppose we could order in." 

They'd hurled themselves into the first available cab and raced across Manhattan, somehow managing not to crawl in each other's laps like they had last time. Once at Richard's place, Lee had popped into the bathroom real quick to take the bandage off and clean his new tattoo, and when he walked out again, Richard was waiting impatiently on the bed, bare-chested and his trousers open and his hand stuffed down the front. There was tension in that arm, its movements slow and deliberate. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lee said as he moved across the bed on his knees. "Why the rush? What's gotten you so hot under the collar, babe?" 

"I don't know," Richard whispered, lifting his hips off the mattress to allow Lee to tug his trousers and briefs down in one go. "It's those incredible drawings, and the thought that you've been looking at me, _seeing_ me, all this time, and drawing me like-- like I was something beautiful. I felt like I was seeing myself through your eyes, looking at those drawings, and... god, I don't know. You make me feel so damn _alive_ , Lee, like I could do anything, and it really, really makes me want to fuck you." 

He reached for the hem of Lee's shirt, grasping it between his fingers, but Lee swatted his hands away. "No, no," he scolded, "no touching without my say so. Like it or not, Mr. Armitage, you are getting a striptease today one way or the other." 

He had then proceeded to slowly take all his clothes off - pity he only had pants and a shirt to work with - while Richard's gaze roved over him, latching onto the new tattoo. "Does it hurt? It looks red." 

"That should go away in a day or so. Don't worry, Rich. This is peanuts compared to some of my other tattoos." Lee ran his hands down Richard's chest, gently scraping his skin with blunt fingernails and making sure not to give his nipples a miss. Richard groaned and arched his spine, dropping back down when Lee's fingers pulled tracks in the skin of his hips, skimming past the crux of his legs and sliding around to the outsides of his thighs. "Spread these for me," Lee instructed in a low voice, and Richard obeyed at once, raising his knees and jolting upwards when Lee's fingers closed around his cock and held it up while his head descended between Richard's thighs. 

"Oh, god," Richard gasped, letting his knees fall wider when Lee's head started bobbing insistently, and he grabbed the railings of the headboard with one hand while curling the fingers of the other into Lee's hair. Lee didn't need much time for this, taking more of him with every stroke until his lips were stretched around the root of him, and staying there for several long, time-shattering moments with his nose buried firmly against Richard's belly until his lungs started to burn and he had to pull off. 

Richard was already wrecked by then, and that was even before Lee opened one of the new bottles of lube they'd purchased together - Chelsea's sex shops offered a wide variety of scents and flavors to try - and slowly fingered himself open while Richard whimpered and begged him to get a move on. 

"So impatient," Lee admonished, taking Richard's erection in his free hand and giving it a tug. "Need to get myself nice and ready for this big cock, don't I?" He'd reached into the drawer and dropped a condom on Richard's stomach. "Here, make yourself useful." 

He made his last few strokes while Richard tore the wrapper open with shaking hands and rolled the condom on. Lee used his slick fingers to lubricate the tip, knowing that it would be enough to ensure a smooth ride, and guided it inside him as he lowered himself onto Richard's cock. "Like this, baby?" 

Richard nodded, a myriad of expressions flickering across his face as he stared at Lee with one of those worshipful gazes that made Lee feel like he could conquer the world. He wondered if this was how Richard had felt when he looked at those drawings and understood how Lee saw him. 

"Yes, like that." 

With one last roll of his hips, Lee sank fully into Richard's lap. "How does that feel? Tell me." 

"So good," Richard choked out, "so fucking good, Lee, you're so hot, such a good fit for me." 

Lee braced his hands on his thighs and began to move, slowly, casually almost. "You know what I'm thinking?" 

Richard gave him a dazed look, realized after a moment that Lee was waiting for a response and grunted out a negative. 

"I'm thinking that we should get tested, make sure we're both healthy so we can do away with these." He picked up the torn condom wrapper and scraped Richard's heated skin with one of the edges. He grinned and did a particularly cruel grind that had Richard bucking beneath him. "You're not doing this with anybody else, are you?" 

Richard shook his head emphatically. "Fuck no, Lee, I don't think I'd survive it. You are more than enough to take by yourself." 

"Damn right," Lee said, slowly increasing the speed and intensity of his movements. Richard responded by grabbing hold of his hips, quite forcefully, but Lee definitely wasn't going to complain about that. Richard pulled him down on the next stroke, trying to control the pace, and Lee decided to let him. "Would you like to fuck me like that, Rich? Really feel me on your cock, pump me full of come and lick it out after? I've never tried that with anyone before, you?" 

Richard groaned loudly and shook his head again, tilting his hips and thrusting up hard. Lee was tipped forward by the force of it and braced himself on Richard's chest, spreading his knees wider to receive Richard's cock and feeling the first nudge of the head against his prostate. "Oh, fuck, right there," he gasped, harsh breaths turning to pants when Richard did it again, and harder. "Yeah, like that, do me just like that, Rich, come on." 

Every one of Richard's thrusts was a hit now, and Lee could hear the sounds of their colliding bodies grow louder and slicker, and he felt the salt of his sweat pricking in his recently tattooed skin. He could see Richard looking at it with wide-eyed fascination and smiled, wondering if this meant the phoenix had been bumped down to second place. 

He could feel the crest of the wave coming and reached for his cock, knowing that it would be over in just a few well-timed strokes. "Rich," he pleaded, and a look of understanding passed between them and then Richard went at it hard, driving himself in at a relentless, strenuous pace which no man could be expected to keep up for very long. Lee was already on that edge, slowing his strokes to try and hold himself back from it. "Come on, Rich," he urged, moaning, "I'm ready, so ready, baby, come with me, _please_." 

Richard grunted and dug his fingers into Lee's hips and ass hard enough to bruise. A shudder ran through him and then his spine bowed off the bed and he let out a cry that went straight to Lee's core. One twist of his hand and he was coming too, spilling hard and painting Richard's chest with warm, opalescent stripes of white. "I love you," he'd whispered, trembling, as he tucked his head against Richard's shoulder, and Richard had whispered it back. 

Those had been good days. More than good-- magical. 

And then it had all spectacularly gone to shit.


	22. Vulture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word of caution: this chapter might be upsetting/triggering for people who have experienced rape.

One Saturday afternoon in mid June, Lee and Richard had decided to make the most of the early summer and head off to one of Lee's favorite haunts from his Juilliard days, Coney Island. They'd strolled along the surf barefoot and sat in the sand facing the ocean with their fingers linked together and Lee's chin propped on Richard's shoulder. Very little was said, but it was the kind of silence that didn't ask to be broken, and they stayed like that until Richard's English complexion glowed a little too rosy for Lee's liking. 

They went and got two sundaes to go and ambled along the boardwalk for a bit, Lee stopping at every stall and shop display and Richard taking advantage of his distraction by sneaking bites off his ice cream and dashing out of reach when Lee tried to smack his ass for punishment. They were both in a silly, playful mood, untroubled and joyful like children, and Lee had thought then that it would always stay that way. 

If only he had been right. 

He'd quickly popped into one of the little gift shops to purchase a bottle of water while Richard waited outside. He made a joke of it, claiming that the shop was too small to fit both of them at the same time, but Lee knew that as soon as he was out of sight Richard would be on his phone to check his mail; he was waiting for an interesting new script Philippa had been dropping hints about and Lee sensed that he was more anxious about it than he was letting on. 

Inside the admittedly tiny shop, Lee had gotten distracted browsing and bought aftersun lotion for Richard and a pair of dangly earrings for Evie which he knew she would love. When he got outside a few minutes later, what he saw made him stop in his tracks. Richard was having what appeared to be quite an amiable conversation with a young blond man with a surfboard under his arm. Even with sunglasses on, Lee immediately recognized him by his slicked back mass of curls, quick smile and wholesome Californian look. 

The reporter. O'Gorman. 

As he slowly approached them, Lee reminded himself that his distrust towards O'Gorman was instinctual, not factual; the guy had written a decent article about _Vincent_ and Richard in _The New Yorker_ and given absolutely no offense in any way. 

And yet, something about the guy made his skin crawl. Something told him to be wary. 

Richard interrupted the conversation for a moment to smile at him. "You took your bloody time in there." 

"I got you some aftersun." Lee handed him the bottle and sized O'Gorman up from behind his own sunglasses. "Off to catch some waves, Mr. O'Gorman?" 

"Sure am. I live close by so I try to flex my surfing muscle whenever I can." Dean lifted his shades and whistled, leaning a bit closer. "Awesome tattoos, man." 

Lee shrunk back a little, cursing his sleeveless shirt and wishing he could cover himself up. Tattoos were far from being a rarity on Coney Island and he'd trained himself to ignore the looks of strangers, but O'Gorman's roaming gaze felt like an intrusion. "Thanks." 

"No, seriously, that peacock is wicked. Who is your artist? Someone I can recommend to my buddies?" 

Lee could see Richard smirking from the corner of his eye, but didn't bother correcting O'Gorman about the phoenix. "I had most of my tattoos done by the Wizard, but he's all but retired now." 

"The Wizard, okay. What's his real name?" 

Lee shrugged. "If your friends know anything about tattoos, they will know who the Wizard is." 

Richard inconspicuously laid his hand flat against the small of Lee's back, perhaps because he sensed that Lee was getting annoyed. "Lee is actually quite an accomplished tattoo artist himself," he said proudly, and Lee wanted to simultaneously kick and kiss him in that moment. 

_Goddammit, Richard. You big soppy idiot._

"Oh, really? Awesome." O'Gorman slid his sunglasses back in place. "Where you at?" 

"East Village," Lee said evasively, reluctant to reveal even that much, and he sent Richard an urgent glance to let him know that the conversation had taken a turn he was not the least bit comfortable with. 

Thankfully, Richard could read him pretty well by now. "Well, Mr. O'Gorman, we'd best be on our way," he said pleasantly, taking Lee's hand. "Enjoy the water. I hope you'll find some decent waves." 

"Thanks," O'Gorman said, tipping his non-existent hat, "you have a good one too, guys. See ya." 

"You should not have told him that," Lee said once they were out of earshot. 

"I should not have told him what?" 

"How I earn my paycheck. It's none of his business." 

Richard gave him a befuddled look. "Ah, Lee, what's the harm? He seemed to take an interest, and I was just making conversation. Please don't tell me you're ashamed of what you do." 

"No, I'm not ashamed." Lee sighed. "I just don't want this guy poking his nose into our lives, okay? I don't like it." 

"Lee, he was hardly poking around. He spotted me while I was waiting for you and came over to congratulate me on the ambassadorship." The FYTT had sent out a press release a few days previously. "He was just being friendly." 

"He's a reporter, Rich. His kind is never just being friendly. You have to always watch your words around them, even when they're off the clock." 

Something in Richard's face shifted at that; it was a subtle change, but it was there. "Right. That's quite a sweeping statement, Lee. And just how much personal experience do you have with reporters?" 

The comment stung, but Lee wasn't going to let this go. "I just want you to be careful. I don't know why you're so quick to trust O'Gorman when you don't even know the guy." 

"And I don't know why you're so quick to distrust him." 

Lee couldn't remember who had let go first, but they weren't holding hands anymore. "Please, Richard, I'm not trying to start an argument with you. I know that you see the good in people, like you saw some good in me, but some people will take advantage of that, you know. And something about O'Gorman sets my teeth on edge. I can't explain it, it's a feeling." 

"I see. And what if your feeling turns out to be wrong? I thought you of all people would try not to judge people by first impressions, Lee." 

"Why? Because of these?" Lee gestured at his tattoos. "Yeah, I know all about being judged. People see these and cross the street because they assume I'm a thug. Maybe O'Gorman really is a stand-up guy, I hope he is. But I think I've earned the right to be just a little bit wary of overly friendly strangers, because in my experience those are the types to watch out for. Eric started out treating me oh so nice as well, and I don't need to remind you how that ended, do I?" 

Lee later thought that it had been a mistake to bring up Eric in that moment. They had been free of his shadow until then, but the second Richard heard his name, it was as if the sun disappeared behind a cloud. Eric was a sensitive point with him. 

"What about Ian?" Richard argued. "He was an older gentleman too, came up to you in the street and offered you a deal that must have seemed too good to be true. You decided to trust _him_ , didn't you?" 

"But I made him earn it, because believe it or not, I had learned a thing or two from that hellish time with Eric. I was a lot more streetwise by that time, and I asked Ian straight up if he was looking to put his dick in me at any point. The way he reacted told me that he wasn't that type of guy, so yes, I eventually decided to trust him. You learn to read people when you live on the street, you know; you learn to gauge them, get a measure of how they will react before you approach them. I learned a lot about my fellow man during that time, I learned to trust my instincts, and I'm telling you, I really, really don't like the sight of O'Gorman. You don't agree with me, that's fine, but don't tell me I'm being judgmental or unfair for having an opinion. I'm cautious, yes, and I have every damn right to be." 

"Fine, Lee," Richard said stiffly. "Your opinion is noted, and I apologize. Let's not waste a perfectly lovely day arguing." 

Lee could feel Richard shutting down emotionally, growing distant, and this actually hurt him more than anything else. He tentatively reached out and touched Richard's wrist, fearful that he might be rebuffed. "Hey, I'm sorry for getting a bit fired up. But it's only because you are important to me, you know that, right?" 

Richard nodded. He didn't push Lee's hand away, but he didn't take it either. As expressive as he could be on stage, the man was like a brick wall suddenly, solid and unmoving and his face revealing nothing at all, although Lee suspected emotion like a live wire thrumming underneath that stony surface. "Richard?" he'd said, softly, questioningly, because it was truly distressing to see Richard close himself off like this. 

Richard sighed, and some of the tension broke at that. "It's getting hot," he mumbled, "let's go find some shade." 

They'd continued their walk as two separate entities, and although Lee had eventually been successful at making Richard smile and laugh again, their argument had left a blemish on the day that would not be erased. 

That was the first crack, but by no means the last. 

A few days later, Richard had received a callback for one of his auditions, and the boost of confidence that had given him had translated - as was often the case with Richard - into particularly mind-blowing sex. Although not entirely forgotten, the day at the beach was certainly far from Lee's mind as he braced himself on hands and knees while Richard knelt behind him and held his hips steady as he drove in with hard, deep thrusts. It was their first time trying this position, and Lee was quickly discovering how fucking good it could feel to be on the receiving end of it, until Richard - without slowing down or stopping even for a second - pushed him down on his stomach and straddled his thighs, nudging them closer together and groaning loudly on the next inward thrust. 

Normally Richard would ask before changing the position, not because it was absolutely necessary but because he was attentive to Lee's needs and preferences. The fact that he forgot to ask this time was surprising but not too alarming, as Lee was too pleasantly occupied having his prostate massaged by Richard's cockhead and barely remembered his own name at this point. 

But then one of Richard's hands appeared on the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, tugging and then sliding down to the base of his skull. Lee felt a callused thumb stroking the knobbly ridge of his cervical spine and then the breadth of that hand settling on the back of it, more firmly than necessary. 

That hand changed everything. All of a sudden Lee found it hard to breathe, pushed face down into the pillow as he was with a strong hand pressing on the back of his neck. There were memories he'd locked away that were eerily similar to this, memories of being pinned down on his stomach like this and being fucked just like this by a man who was as different from Richard as night was from day. This had been Eric's preferred position in the end stage of their dysfunctional relationship, because it meant he didn't have to see Lee's disinterested face and flaccid cock, both of which were an insult to his ego, as he fancied himself quite the lover. The position also worked for Lee in that he could bury his face into the pillow and, with varying success, block out the noises Eric made when he was caught up in the pleasure of this one-sided act and the endless stream of disgusting praise words that accompanied it. 

Sometimes, to make the exercise marginally more bearable, Lee tried imagining that the man fucking him was not in fact Eric but some nameless lover whose face never really swam into focus but whom he felt very differently about. Someone whose touch evoked pleasure rather than loathing, which was the only feeling Lee could summon for the red-faced man who fucked him like he owned him, grunting and sweating like a pig the whole time through. 

But in all those months under Eric's yoke, Lee never thought he deserved any better, until the day something suddenly clicked and he decided to grab all the available cash and walk away from the situation, which, in hindsight, was one of the smartest things he'd ever done. His therapists in rehab had helped him come to terms with what had happened, and eventually, through trial and error, he even learned to enjoy sex again. There had undeniably been some issues over the years - there were certain things he'd never let his partners do, even Luke - but all in all, he felt that he'd gone through the steps and left it behind him. 

In this moment, however, nothing felt farther from the truth as the years melted away and suddenly he was right back where he used to be, trapped face down on a bed with a cock driving into him from behind and a hand holding him down by the scruff of his neck, rendering him all but immobile. Lee tried to fight his instinctive response, tried to twist his head to the side to free up his nose and mouth and make eye contact with Richard, just to remind himself that it was okay, there was nothing to panic about, but it wasn't working-- already he could feel his erection flagging and his body tensing up, but Richard was too lost in pleasure to notice, his thrusts only coming harder and faster, his groans pitched low. 

It was too much; he needed to say something, to ask for a change of position, a moment of reprieve to find his bearings again, but it was as if the terror had glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth and it was several long, harrowing moments before Lee could get it unstuck. 

"Richard," he croaked almost inaudibly, "please." 

It wasn't until after he'd said it that he realized it was the wrong choice of words, but it didn't seem to matter as his squeaky plea had completely failed to attract Richard's attention and gotten lost amid the other noises. Richard's hand moved from his neck to grip his shoulder instead, a small relief, and Lee whimpered when Richard's cock slid along his tender prostate at a slightly different angle, coaxing a final weak twitch from his own now barely-existent erection. Pleasure and discomfort had never been so inappropriately entwined before, and it felt wrong, all wrong. Sex was not supposed to be like this, not ever, and especially not with Richard. 

"Yeah," Richard panted, apparently in complete misunderstanding of what Lee's whine had meant, and his hand slipped down briefly to stroke Lee's dragon tattoo before returning to his shoulder. "That's the spot, isn't it? God, you feel so good, Lee, so amazing. I could stay up all night fucking you." 

Normally, hearing Richard talk like this would rev Lee's engines like nothing else. Now it only added to his distress, and the next loud smack of Richard's hips against Lee's ass tore a desperate sob from his throat, followed by another, but in between these sobs he finally managed to grate out a weak "stop, Richard." When that didn't register either, he began to squirm and tried again, his voice rising in pitch. "Stop, Richard, please, _stop_." 

Lee practically wailed that final _stop_ , and as it rang out Richard's body finally stilled quite abruptly. A shocked silence descended, broken only by Richard's panting breaths. "Lee? What--" 

"Stop, I need you to stop." Lee had finally found his voice again, and over and over the word kept pouring out of him even now that Richard was not moving anymore. "This is not-- I am not enjoying this. Get off of me. Please." 

Richard appeared to be sobering up at a rapid pace as he processed the fact that he must have missed some major clues. "Lee, I--" 

"Please get off of me," Lee beseeched, his voice gaining a shrill undertone, "just get _off_." 

When Richard moved away, his cock slipping out of Lee's body, Lee immediately rolled off of his stomach and pulled the sheets to him to cover himself, but Richard got an eyeful of his limp cock all the same. His own was still fully hard, rearing up between his legs and twitching obscenely as if objecting to the sudden interruption. 

"Lee?" Richard sounded completely lost, and Lee couldn't bear facing him in that moment, busying himself looking for his boxer briefs and slipping them on under the sheets. "Lee, talk to me. What's wrong? What did I-- I thought--" He seemed to become painfully aware of his flagrant erection and pulled the condom off with clumsy fingers. "Please, Lee, I don't understand." 

Now that the worst of the panic was subsiding, misery and guilt were kicking in with a vengeance, and Lee struggled to articulate the answer he owed Richard. "I'm sorry, Richard," he whispered forlornly, clutching the sheet between his fingers and pulled it up higher. He would gladly have hid under it completely if he could. "I didn't know this was going to happen, I didn't realize-- What you were doing triggered something - a memory - and I... I freaked out." 

There was a beat. "A memory of what?" Richard's voice was raspy. "Of that... of _him_?" Richard always used pronouns or curse words to refer to Eric, never his actual name. 

Lee nodded dolefully. "He used to... fuck me like that, on my stomach, and pin me down the way you did. He didn't like seeing my face in the end, he just wanted to get off and pretend I did, too." 

Even though Lee didn't dare look Richard in the eye, he could see his face twisting in pain even from the periphery of his vision. "My god, Lee, I'm so--" His voice broke and he swallowed, reaching up a trembling hand. "I'm so sorry." 

Lee wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but when Richard laid his fingers gently against his cheek, he flinched and slapped Richard's hand away, harder than necessary. It was a reflex, one he regretted immediately after, but Richard slunk away with a wounded look and didn't try to touch him again after the rebuttal, instead snatching his briefs from the floor and pulling them on brusquely. 

"Damn it, Lee," he lashed out, near tears, "you had so many chances to tell me this might happen. I asked you about triggers that very first night we made love, and you asked me to trust you to know what you wanted and what you could handle. You swore to me that I didn't have to worry. Now how am I supposed to feel, knowing that me fucking you made you think of him? Does that make me just as bad?" 

"Of course not!" Lee felt hot tears pricking at his eyes, devastated that Richard would even articulate that thought. "You didn't know, and I didn't tell you because I didn't know either, I didn't even remember how it used to be until you grabbed the back of my neck. I've put those memories far away, Richard. I didn't know they were going to resurface until they did. Do you think I wanted this to happen any more than you did?" 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Richard put his face in his hands, his whole body exuding heartbreak and defeat. "And what if it happens again?" he said in a stifled voice. "What if there are more triggers lurking that you don't know about, and something I do accidentally pushes a button? How can I be your boyfriend and love you knowing that anything I do could remind you of that rapist? I can't be in a relationship with that fear constantly in the back of my mind, Lee." 

Lee could feel his heart starting to crumple at that last comment. "Because it's too complicated?" 

Richard sat up with a strong exhalation. "That is not what I said. Don't put words in my mouth. This situation right here is everything I've been trying to avoid for the past few weeks, yet here were are and I can't even comfort you because you don't want me to touch you. What do you want me to do, Lee? Tell me how to make this better, because I'm drawing a blank."

"I don't know," Lee truthfully replied, "I don't know, Rich, but we'll figure it out. Maybe we just need to take some space for a couple of days." It was not what he wanted at all, and he couldn't believe such a hollow cliché would even come out of his mouth, but he didn't know what else to say. 

"Yeah. Maybe." Richard sounded utterly deflated as he ran his fingers through his hair and got up from the bed like he was carrying a great weight on his shoulders. "I'm going to take a shower, I guess." 

"All right." Lee bit his lip. It wasn't all right, and neither was the distance he felt gaping between them, but he could hardly begrudge Richard some time alone to reflect on what had just occurred. "Leave some hot water for me?" 

The attempted joke, lame as it was, was meant to bridge the gap a little bit, to get the frost out of the air, but the skittish glance Richard gave him before disappearing into the bathroom told him that it hadn't worked. A few moments later he heard water running, and for some reason it was the saddest sound he'd ever heard. Neither of them had ever taken a shower before without the other one tagging along. 

Lee slowly released his death grip on the sheets and slid under them without a sound, turning to face the wall and pulling his knees up to his chest. He lay staring at the wallpaper for what felt like a very long time, desolate and miserable without Richard's familiar warmth and weight behind him, but at the same time dreading the moment of Richard's return. 

Richard was probably right to be upset with him. Clearly he had misrepresented just how much of an issue his past could become. Clearly the breakneck speed thing had been a mistake once again, and clearly, he was doomed to make the same mistakes over and over again without ever learning from them. He squeezed his eyes shut and hugged himself a little more tightly, wondering how all his happiness could have drained out of him so fast in such a small space of time. It probably served him right for getting complacent about it. 

Richard took a long time in the bathroom, but eventually the taps of the shower were turned off and a few minutes later Lee heard the door opening and Richard's voice. "Bathroom's free." 

Lee didn't respond, didn't move. It was cowardly, he knew that, but the prospect of facing Richard and seeing the guilt and shame - and possibly rejection - on his face was unbearable. He kept his eyes closed and made sure to breathe calmly and deeply. 

"Lee?" He heard Richard approaching the bed, and then a long silence. Something told him that Richard would see right through him - he was not that good an actor - but eventually, Richard returned to the bathroom to switch the light off and crawled into bed. Maybe he was just as relieved to avoid this conversation as Lee was. 

Still, Lee could not help but hope that Richard would scoot close and show him the affection he couldn't show him before, a stolen cuddle when he believed Lee to be asleep, or maybe just a soft caress of fingers in his hair. 

It didn't come. 

He knew that Richard wasn't anywhere near sleep, though; the body lying in bed next to him was as tense as a strung wire and gave off palpable waves of misery. He could only suspect what was going through Richard's mind at that moment but he did know that it couldn't be anything good. It made Lee feel like an utter piece of shit for being such a coward. 

Richard didn't deserve this. He deserved better than this, better than Lee, who was damaged goods and always would be. And the conversation they would have in the morning would inevitably lead to the same conclusion. 

Somehow, in spite of these gloomy thoughts, Lee eventually slipped into a light, restless sleep, only to jolt awake some time later with a stiff shoulder and a tingling arm. He shifted his weight off of it and flexed it carefully, wondering what time it was. The room had gone dark, the lights were off, and it only took a moment for the events of the night to float back into crystal clear focus. 

"Lee, are you awake?" Somehow Lee was not surprised to find that Richard was not asleep, in fact it would be far more surprising if Richard had caught a single wink since the moment he got into bed. His voice was soft and hoarse, a far cry from the monotone he'd been using before. "Please, Lee, talk to me." 

Lee couldn't keep up the illusion. A soft gasp tore from his throat and it was like the breaking of a dam; he started to cry and turned around, reaching across the empty space between them and clutching at Richard with desperate fingers, and Richard thankfully folded his arms around him with what sounded like a sigh of relief and cradled him close as it all came pouring out. Lee was sobbing pathetically, tasting tears and thin, salty snot while Richard kissed his forehead and whispered how sorry he was over and over again. He was crying too, although his tears were silent and less undignified. 

"It will be okay, Lee," he kept saying. "We'll figure this out. It will be okay." 

And maybe he was right. Maybe things would look better in the morning. But in that very moment, as he felt the claws of his past trying to drag him under, Lee despaired and wondered if he would ever truly be free of them.


	23. Osprey

The following Saturday afternoon, one week after things had started going sour at the beach, Lee walked into the tattoo shop to start his shift, took one look at Evie's and Aidan's uneasy expressions and immediately had that foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach. They were about to tell him something he was not going to be too pleased about. 

"Oh god, what?" he asked, looking from one to the other as he lifted the strap of his messenger bag up over his head. "What are the long faces for? Are we back in the red? Is it something with Ian?" The very thought had his stomach in knots. _Please, don't let it be Ian._

To say this had been the week from hell would be an understatement, and he really, really couldn't take any more bad news on top of the pile of crap he was already dealing with. The atmosphere at home - in spite of his caution he'd already begun thinking of Richard's apartment in those terms - had been tense ever since that traumatic night a few days ago, and every attempt at having a constructive conversation about it had derailed and ended in frustration on both sides. It was obvious to Lee that Richard was weighed down by self-blame, to the point where he shut down emotionally and verbally because he could not deal with the guilt of what had happened, and Lee was about to reach the limit of his patience. In order for them to move past this, he knew they had to keep communicating, but at the moment communicating with Richard was like getting a brick wall to open up about its feelings. 

And the lack of communication wasn't the only problem. Lee had tried to initiate intimacy a few times in hopes of getting their sex life back on track, but Richard would have none of it. Even the simplest and most innocent of cuddles was fraught with tension now, and Lee hated that, hated that Richard was letting fear ruin something that had been so perfect and felt so natural, and it killed him that someone as physically affectionate as Richard was now robbed of his primary way of expressing himself emotionally. 

Also, the rejection hurt. It really fucking hurt. Lee longed for the way they used to go to sleep spooning and watch television with their legs entwined on the couch, he missed the comfortable easy way Richard would slip his arms around his waist sometimes and bury his face against his neck to breathe him in. He missed the long showers and the bone-melting kisses that seemed to never end and the feeling of Richard's fingers lavishing his shoulders and chest with caresses and the reverent slide of lips that would usually follow suit. He missed the heat of Richard's mouth around his cock and his naked body writhing between his thighs and the cuddles and murmured conversations that came after the fucking. 

The thought that all of that had been taken away from them, that it might take a long time to rebuild what had been destroyed in a matter of seconds-- it made Lee want to punch a wall in helpless frustration. 

Then again, maybe there was nothing to rebuild. Maybe Richard would soon decide that he didn't want to invest in a high-maintenance project like Lee after all. Sure, he would try to stick it out for a while, but the distance between them would continue to grow and their time together would become sparser and sparser until one day Lee would get a text message from Richard asking for his key back. 

Lee had had guys going cold on him like that before. And arguments like the one he and Richard had had that morning, in the wake of yet another one of Lee's failed attempts at rekindling the flame, would only speed up the process. After an uncomfortable few hours of passive aggressive sniping back and forth, Lee had eventually left the apartment early to go to work, and he had been quite relieved to escape from that unpleasant atmosphere. 

What was worse-- Richard had seemed relieved as well. And that in itself was a telling sign. 

Still, Lee's spirits had lifted ever so slightly on the way to the shop. The fresh air had cleared his head and he was looking forward to creating some badass tattoos and leaving his troubles behind for a few hours. But if Aidan's guilty expression was anything to go by, it seemed that trouble had simply followed him. 

"Come on, you guys," he insisted. "On a scale from one to ten, how unhappy am I about to be?" 

"Aidan has something to tell you," Evie blurted, poking Aidan in the ribs with one of her skinny elbows. "Don't you, Aidan?" 

"Right." Aidan rubbed his side with a pained face and cleared his throat ostensibly. "Look, man, I've been a stupid ass. Let me just start by saying that. I dropped the ball big time. But I really like working here and I really fucking respect you, so if you could take that into consideration--" Another jab from Evie. Aidan shoved his hands into his pockets and finally came out with it. 

Apparently Aidan had received an out-of-the-blue phone call earlier that week from someone he used to hang out with in high school but hadn't heard from in years. Apparently this former buddy had spontaneously decided to reconnect and during the course of that phone conversation they agreed to meet for drinks. And apparently - Aidan had a fondness for telling stories with a long-winded narrative, and his being nervous didn't exactly help - Aidan had gotten quite drunk that night and failed to notice anything peculiar about his old friend's marked interest in Aidan's work, the shop and the people he worked with. 

It probably should have surprised Lee more to hear that the friend's name was Dean O'Gorman, who worked as a freelance reporter for a slew of newspapers and magazines in the New York area (the fact that he didn't work exclusively for _The New Yorker_ was something Lee had already discovered for himself when he ran a quick Google search after that encounter on Coney Island) and who seemed to have developed a habit of popping up in Lee's life and nosing around in it uninvited. 

Aidan hadn't suspected a thing at the time and with just a few probing questions Dean had had him singing like a canary. Aidan hadn't done it with any malicious intent - Lee knew all too well that the lad genuinely looked up to him - but that didn't change the fact that he'd revealed much more about Lee's past than he should have, and of course Dean had gobbled it all up. 

"I'm so sorry, Lee," Aidan concluded unhappily. "I told him all that personal stuff about you in my drunken haze and I didn't see any harm in it at the time, but it was stupid and now he's here. He showed up half an hour ago and wants to talk to you, so we put him in the office to wait. I don't know what he wants, but if my big mouth got you in trouble in any way, I'd never--" 

"He's in the office right now?" Lee interjected. He felt strangely calm, all things considered, or perhaps numb was a more accurate word to describe it. Granted, he'd come incredibly close to strangling his apprentice a minute ago, but the urge had subsided and he thanked his lucky stars that Aidan only knew about the drugs and not about Eric, or he might have spilled that information over tequila shots and peanuts as well. 

Aidan nodded. "I told him you have a very busy day, but he was really quite insistent." 

"I'm sure he was." Lee sighed. "Right, I'll go and see what he wants. Evie, let me know when my first client gets here. And Aidan, please go do something useful and make sure we don't cross paths for a while. I think you know I'm not too happy with you right now, but we'll talk about that later." 

O'Gorman was immersed in a magazine, but when Lee came in he put the glossy away and got up. "Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Pace," he said with a smile, extending his hand. "Thank you for receiving me." 

"Technically, my apprentice did," Lee said, ignoring the proffered hand and walking around the desk to take his seat on the opposite side. "He didn't feel like you gave him much of a choice in the matter." 

"I have been rather cheeky, that's true." O'Gorman sat down again and crossed his legs. He looked entirely too comfortable on Lee's terrain. "Aidan and I go way back. I hope my cheekiness didn't get him in trouble." 

"That remains to be seen." Lee gave the reporter a grim look. "Would you care to explain why you resorted to such dubious methods to track me down? From the way Aidan told it, it sure sounded like you used your connection to him to extract private information about me, but I'm drawing a blank as to why." 

O'Gorman gazed at him for a few moments, twiddling his thumbs. "Getting straight to the point, huh? I like that. Okay, Lee, I'm going to do you the same courtesy and be upfront. Yes, I did use Aidan to find out more about you, and what you call dubious methods my editor would call good journalism, but let's save that debate for another day. As for the why..." His hand reached into his breast pocket and emerged with a small object, which he pushed across the desk towards Lee. It was a USB flash drive. 

Lee frowned. "What am I supposed to do with that?" 

"It's the white flag I'm waving to show you that I come in peace," O'Gorman said. "There is a draft article on it and some pictures I took of you and Mr. Armitage at the beach last week. They are the only copies I have; I'm going to have to ask you to trust me on that." 

"You took _pictures_ of us?" Lee took the flash drive and booted up the computer to see if O'Gorman was telling the truth. "Why the fuck would you do that?" 

O'Gorman shrugged. "I was going to sell them to the highest bidder, along with the article. I was smelling a scoop, see. Richard Armitage, the darling of Broadway and recently hailed as the FYTT's newest ambassador, dating a former drug addict. There's a certain juicy appeal in that. People love a scandal." 

Lee seethed with quiet anger as he clicked through the grainy images of him and Richard on the boardwalk. They were holding hands - the sight gave him a wistful pang - and his tattoos were prominently visible. "And to think that Richard defended you when I told him not to trust you," he said disgustedly. "He's never been anything but kind to you, and you would turn around and do _this_? What the fuck is wrong with you?" 

O'Gorman sighed. "I don't suppose it would fly if I told you that it's nothing personal? I've got no beef with either of you, but I have to pay my rent at the end of the month just like everybody else. Reporters are mediocre fucks who make a living off of people with actual talent, that's just how it is. And you'd be surprised how many celebrities secretly relish the attention; not being relevant enough for the gossip rags is what they fear most of all." 

"I can promise you that Richard would not feel it that way. He's not in it for the notoriety. In fact, you could have done his career a whole lot of damage with your sleazy article." 

"I seriously doubt that. Richard's public image is almost too boring; it could do with a few rough edges, just to make him more interesting. Anyway, you can rest easy; I'm not going to publish the pictures or the article, and you have Aidan to thank for that." 

"Oh, really?" Lee crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, regarding the reporter skeptically. "I'm listening." 

"Okay, look." O'Gorman spread his hands in a gesture that was the polar opposite of Lee's defensive posture, and perhaps that was deliberate. "I'm going to be totally honest with you here. Yes, I rang Aidan up to try and dig up some dirt on you that I could use to earn a quick dime. But once he started spilling, I quickly realized that I was on the wrong track completely. The way he _talked_ about you, man; he literally would not shut up about how talented you are and how much he admires and respects you for the way you kicked your habit and worked your way up the ladder like some fucking tattooing prodigy. He said he'd probably gone down the same route with substance abuse if it weren't for you and this shop's zero tolerance policy on drugs." 

Lee scowled hearing this. "Did he really say that?" It certainly was news to him. 

"Yep, sure did. It was weirdly humbling, in a way. And that's when it hit me-- there _is_ an article here that needs to be written, but with a very different angle than the one I had in mind." 

O'Gorman fell silent and gazed at Lee expectantly, as if waiting for him to bite, but Lee refused to give him the satisfaction. A raised eyebrow was the only concession he made. 

"Human interest," O'Gorman went on. "That's the angle I want to take with this. You have a story to tell that people will want to read, Lee, because it's uplifting and it will give them hope. Hope is something people can never have enough of, I'm sure you'll agree." He gestured at Lee. "That tattoo on your forearm, the Emily Dickinson quote? You know how important hope is, don't you?" 

Lee shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the question. "So let me get this straight. First you wanted to vilify me for being an ex addict and now you want to glorify me for it? That is the most preposterous, contradictory thing I've ever heard." 

"You're still not getting it," O'Gorman said patiently. "That first article and the pictures-- that was business, a quick paycheck and nothing else. But this, this is personal. I had a cousin who died of a drug overdose last fall, twenty years old. His parents are devastated, and now his brother is also starting to experiment because he can't cope with the pain. I'm sure my aunt and uncle are already preparing themselves to bury another child soon. But your story of addiction ends well, Lee, and that's why you need to tell it. You need to tell the world that there is a life after drugs, and that it's a life worth living. Let me write this article. I want to interview you, and the rest of the crew, because you all have stories to tell of survival and beating the odds. And I want to bring in a photographer and have you all posing with your tattoos uncovered because even in the 21st century there is still such a stigma attached to the culture, as I'm sure you know all too well. You can play a part in erasing that stigma. I promise you that it will be respectfully done." 

Lee snorted disdainfully. "There isn't a promise you can make that I can trust, Mr. O'Gorman." 

"We can have an agreement drafted in writing if that would ease your mind. Whatever it takes to make this happen." O'Gorman got up, took a business card from his wallet and put it on the desk. "I will leave this here. Think about it for a few days and get back to me." 

Lee didn't touch the card. "And if I don't agree, you will write and publish the original article about Richard after all?" 

O'Gorman looked genuinely appalled. "Christ, do you really have that low an opinion of me, that you think I would stoop to extortion? I'm a reporter, not a criminal." He took his jacket from the chair and held out a hand that, once again, went ignored. "Still not warming up to me, huh? That's okay. Maybe you'll shake my hand next time." 

_There won't be a next time_ , Lee thought, and after O'Gorman had left he'd tossed the card in the trash can and gone to work. But the reporter's visit and proposal lingered in the back of his mind for the rest of the day, refusing to be discarded even though rationally Lee didn't want to waste more time on O'Gorman than he already had. The man talked a good game, though, that much was certain, and when Lee finally found a little time in between clients he locked himself in the office, away from Evie and Aidan's questioning looks, and called Richard. 

It had not been a pleasant conversation. Richard had barely reacted to anything Lee told him and snapped when Lee pushed for a response. 

"What do you want from me, Lee? Clearly you were right about the reporter and I was wrong. I don't know what else you want me to say." 

"It's not about who was right and who was wrong." Lee rubbed his face tiredly; arguing with Richard was so damn exhausting, and he'd done far too much of it lately. "And what I want is for you to _care_ , to not be such a damn robot and show some emotion for once." 

"Really? You think I don't show enough emotion?" Richard gave a bitter laugh. "That's great, Lee. That's really bloody great." 

Lee closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "How about advice, then? I could really do with some of that. What are your thoughts on this article O'Gorman wants to write?" 

An indistinctive grunt on the other end of the line. "You just told me you don't want to be interviewed by the bloke, so clearly you've already made up your mind about the whole thing. What difference will my opinion make?" 

The words were followed by a silence that stretched on for far too long. Lee was perplexed-- even despite their incessant arguing this past week he had expected Richard to be able to put their issues aside long enough to have a normal conversation about this. But he only seemed to become more uncommunicative and standoffish as time went by. 

"Richard," Lee finally said softly, "what happened to figuring things out? Are you even still interested in trying? Because these last few days I haven't felt like you are." 

"I don't know, Lee." 

The curt response struck Lee right in the heart, and his next words came out stifled. "What do you mean, you don't know? You either want to work it out or you don't. Do you still want me to come to the theatre tonight as we'd planned? Please answer with yes or no." 

A beat of silence. "Maybe it is better if you don't come. Maybe it is better if you stay at Evie's for a while. I need... I need time to think." 

Lee bit down hard on his bottom lip. _Time to think_. He had heard that phrase before, and it had heralded the end of the relationship every time. "Time isn't the answer, Richard," he said quietly. "Taking time is avoiding the issue, not solving it. If you're not willing to face this monster together with me, we'll never defeat it. You might as well do me the courtesy of breaking up with me right here and now." 

"Right. No pressure then, eh?" Richard's tone grew even more distant. "You know, Lee, what happened that night doesn't only affect you. Sorry if that's harsh, but I'm just telling it as it is. I need to come to terms with it too, and your forcing the issue doesn't help. I need time, and if you're not prepared to give me that, then, well... I don't know what to tell you." 

When they hung up not long after that, nothing had been resolved, and even though nothing definitive had been voiced Lee knew that breaking up was only a formality after this. Guys - Luke being the unlikely exception - didn't stick around once they realized the extent of the emotional baggage they were taking on board with him. 

That was a few minutes ago, the final crack that damaged the glass beyond repair. Lee hasn't moved from his spot since, one hand still on his phone and the other on his new tattoo as he lets the floodgates open, grateful for the privacy of the office and praying that no one will come looking for him. 

He isn't quite so lucky, but at least the well of tears has run dry by the time Aidan pokes his head around the door. "Lee? Your next client just arrived. Are you okay?" 

Lee shakes his head, prompting Aidan to come in and cautiously close the door behind him. When Lee gives him the short version of what just happened, he comes closer and puts an arm around him, a comforting gesture that almost gets Lee going again. 

"It's not my fault, is it?" Aidan asks timidly. "That thing with Dean isn't the reason you and Richard are breaking up? Please tell me it's not." 

"No, Aidan, it's got nothing to do with that. There are other issues at play." Lee sighs, realizing that there is something he needs to make clear. "And speaking of Dean, I want you to know that I'm not angry with you for that." 

Lee can see a burden lifting off of Aidan's shoulders at that. "You're not?" 

Lee shakes his head. "I was at first, and I sure hope you'll be more careful in the future, but strange as it may sound, I think you may actually have done me a favor this time." 

"So... what did Dean want to discuss with you this afternoon?" 

Lee manages a cheerless smile. "He wants to write an article about the shop. About us." 

"Oh." A beat. "What did you tell him?" 

"I have it under advisement." Lee slowly gets up and pockets his phone. "Please don't tell Evie what I just told you, okay? She'd go on a rampage and call Richard all sorts of names and I'm not ready to deal with that." Come to think of it, he isn't sure he ever will be. 

"Okay, Lee." Aidan nods in understanding. "I'd take a few more minutes before going back out there, though, if I were you." 

"Why?" 

"Because..." Aidan gestures vaguely at Lee's face and gives him a sheepish smile. "If I can tell you've been crying, she sure will, too."


	24. Lark

The next few days pass without a sign of life from Richard, further cementing the conclusion Lee reached immediately after their last phone conversation; their relationship has crashed and burned just as fast as it took off. And while there is a certain irony in it that maybe, one day, will give him something to smile about, right now that day feels impossibly far away. 

Until then, there is nothing to be done except to go through the motions. He is staying at Evie's again (and although she must suspect something she does him the courtesy of not asking questions), looking at apartment listings again, struggling with thoughts of drugs again, for the first time since... well, since Richard. He doesn't act on those thoughts, because he knows what the consequences will be if he does, but it doesn't exactly help knowing that a nice cocktail of pills is just a phone call away. That is the problem with drugs-- once you know how easily obtainable they are, there is no erasing that knowledge. 

He tries not to spend too much time thinking about O'Gorman, even though for reasons unclear to him he has dug the reporter's business card up from the trash and put it away in a drawer. The rest of the crew, even Ian, seem favorably inclined towards the article O'Gorman wants to write, but the end decision, Lee knows, lies with him. 

It is a decision he doesn't feel equipped to make at the moment, because once again he finds himself in a stage of his life where getting out of bed to face the day feels like a task of gargantuan proportions, but he keeps going so as not to concern the others. He keeps going because he has to believe that things will get better somehow, someday. 

He comes close to calling Richard a thousand times, but he backs out of it every time, afraid to have his call go unanswered - which would feel like a rejection in itself - or worse, to actually hear Richard's voice, lose all dignity and beg him to take him back. 

Because that is exactly what would happen, he knows it, and his pride balks at the idea. 

A few days after the phone call - he thinks it might be Wednesday, but the days are so dully similar now that he can't be entirely sure - there is another unexpected visitor at the shop. Philippa's high-heeled shoes click on the linoleum of the shop floor as Lee shows her the way to the office and she sits down gingerly on the chair he offers her, looking simultaneously intimidated and fascinated by these alien surroundings even though he can see her trying to keep her composure. 

"So... this is where you work," she says conversationally as he pours her coffee from his own thermos and sits down facing her. Her eyes slide across the room, looking at the artwork decorating the walls. "Yours?" 

"Some of it. The décor is a collaborative effort, we all contribute." 

"Richard told me you are very talented." 

Lee doesn't respond; he stares into his coffee as he listlessly stirs it. It would probably be polite to ask Philippa at this point why she is here and what he can do for her, but he can't bring himself to it. 

"You don't look so good, Lee," she observes, in almost the same concerned, motherly tone he's heard her use with Richard. "Are you okay?" 

Lee shrugs. "I'll be fine." Spitefully, he cannot help but add, "I'm sure you're pleased, though." 

"Me, pleased? About what?" 

"About the fact that Richard and I are breaking up." 

The stunned look Philippa gives him at that seems remarkably genuine. "Breaking up? That is news to me." 

"Well, it's the truth, so you have what you wanted. Hopefully his next relationship will be with someone who fits the mold better." 

Philippa looks down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Actually, Lee, I feel I need to apologize for any hostility on my part that may have gotten us off on the wrong foot. I don't dislike you at all, I never have, I just felt like Richard blindsided me that night of the fundraiser and... I may have overreacted. I'm sorry. And it really surprises me to hear you're breaking up. You seemed so happy together, and I was actually starting to see how good you were for him. I've never seen Richard more carefree and confident than he has been since he met you. It was so refreshing and lovely to see." 

Lee remains silent, trying very hard not to cry into his mug of coffee. Philippa's apology and blessing would be oh so welcome if only they hadn't come too late. 

"People tell me I'm too protective of Richard," Philippa says with a smile, "that I'm too personal and don't take a professional enough stance with him. And they may be right, I do let my affection for him bleed into our working relationship, which is probably why we butt heads a lot. He is without exaggeration one of the most talented actors I've ever met, but he is almost too sensitive, too modest for this industry, it's infuriating. So yes, I suppose I do spend more time mollycoddling him than I probably should, and for a while I thought that you were one of the things I needed to protect him from. I'm glad I was wrong. Peace?" 

Lee doesn't have the heart to point out that maybe her instincts about him hadn't been that far off the mark after all and that maybe Richard would have been better off if they had never met. Instead he says, "Yeah, peace." 

"Good. Now for the reason I'm here..." Philippa's expression sobers. "I'm worried about Richard, and even more so now that I know your relationship is in rough waters. He has been avoiding my calls for a few days now, and none of my messages have gotten a response. When was the last time you talked to him?" 

"Saturday." Immediately, Lee's stomach clenches with fear. "We did not end that phone conversation very amiably, and I haven't tried to reach out to him since. God, Philippa, do you think something has happened?" 

"I don't think we need to panic just yet," Philippa says. "It's not abnormal for Richard to go into hiding when his confidence takes a hit, which is usually what happens when projects fall through. He gets so invested in the roles he auditions for that rejection really shakes him up, so last week was rough." 

"What do you mean, rough?" Lee frowns. "He hasn't heard back about his auditions yet, or he would have told--" He cuts off quite abruptly, feeling a pang in his chest. "Oh my god, did he get turned down for those roles? All of them?" 

Philippa nods. "I guess he didn't tell you?" 

"No. He never said a word." Lee sets the coffee mug down with a shaking hand. All of a sudden, Richard's behavior from the past week makes a lot more sense. "Why didn't he? Why would he keep that a secret?" 

"You'll have to ask him that, Lee, but if I had to take a guess, I'd say he was probably ashamed and went into self esteem meltdown. It's happened before, but it usually blows over after a day or two. I hoped that you would have some info, that's why I came down here. Could you try calling him? Maybe he will pick up when he sees it's you." 

Lee has already punched the speed dial and put the phone to his ear, waiting - praying - for the click and Richard's voice on the other end, but his call goes straight to voicemail. 

"Voicemail," he tells Philippa with a sinking heart. "I don't think his phone is even switched on, Philippa." He leaves a message all the same, trying to keep his tone casually upbeat even though he is wracked with worry. By the time he hangs up, he's already come to a decision about what needs to be done next. "I can't just sit here waiting and not knowing what's going on. I'm going to head on over and see what's up. Do you want to come with?" 

"I can't, Lee, I have another client to meet in thirty minutes. Besides, if Richard is in a mood then two unexpected visitors probably won't be too well received, and you may have a thing or two to discuss that aren't meant for my ears. No, it's better if you go alone. Keep me in the loop, though?" 

"I will." Lee waits impatiently for Philippa to finish her coffee, jiggling his leg and turning his cell round and round in his hands, hoping against hope that it will ring and that Richard's name will be flashing on the screen. He leaps to his feet the moment Philippa sets her mug down, and together they return to the front desk where Evie is flipping through a magazine. It's a relatively quiet day, and that slightly assuages the guilt Lee feels for taking off like this. 

"Need to head out for a bit, lily bud," he tells her in passing. "Terribly sorry, but could you reschedule my appointments?" 

"But your next client could be here any minute," she sputters. 

"Offer them a discount," Lee says, matching her pout with a pleading look of his own. "Please, Evie, I can't go into details right now, but it's Richard. I have to know he's all right." 

She takes a good look at him and then sighs, waving him out. "You owe me for this." 

"Big time." He leans across the counter and kisses her fondly. "You're a gem, you know that, right?" 

"Yeah, yeah. I can't take your flattery to the bank, Lee." 

"I'll push for a raise next time Ian's here," he says as he ushers Philippa out the door, feeling a stab of guilt at the skeptical look Evie gives him. It isn't the first time he's made this promise, but he's been negligent in following through with it. He will have to make sure to keep his word this time. 

Outside the shop, Lee and Philippa exchange numbers and seal their peace treaty with a handshake. "I hope you and Richard can work things out, Lee," she tells him earnestly. "I really do." 

As Philippa hails a cab, Lee grabs his bike and races to Chelsea in record time, standing on the pedals the whole time and running as many red lights as he can get away with. He leaves his bike under a lamppost outside Richard's apartment building, not bothering to chain it down and not caring if it gets stolen because of it. 

The elevator ride up is agony. Lee doesn't wear a watch, but he is sure that it takes at least twice as long to get to the third floor as it normally does. Even the elevator doors seem to mock him, sliding open so excruciatingly slowly that Lee bumps his shoulder against one of them hard enough to bruise as he impatiently stumbles out. 

When he actually stands facing Richard's door, though, doubt strikes and he suddenly feels silly for having dropped everything to rush over here because of a hunch. Maybe Richard is just busy. Maybe he's gotten immersed in a new script and doesn't want to be disturbed, least of all by him. Maybe - Lee tries not to let this thought take hold, but it does - maybe he's gone out and found somebody else to fuck. It would not be hard; all he would have to do is walk into the theatre bar after the performance and the hopefuls would come flocking. 

But he has to know for sure, so he knocks, softly at first, then harder. He tries knocking and calling Richard's name, but no response. Then, after a moment of indecisive fretting, he digs up his keys and singles out the one he needs. 

Inside the apartment, everything is quiet, and for a moment it seems as though Richard isn't home. But then Lee notices the dirty dishes left in the sink (unusual) and the drawn curtains in the living room and in the bedroom (even more unusual, given that it is a bright sunny day out). The whole apartment is warm and stuffy and shrouded in gloom. 

"Richard?" he says uncertainly, crossing the living room towards the bedroom. He doesn't hear water running, but then Richard never showers in the middle of the day. "Richard, are you in here?"

He hears a muffled grunt coming from the general direction of the bed and gets a start-- Richard is lying on top of the covers face down, naked except for his boxer briefs. He doesn't lift his head to look at Lee and that is not a good sign at all. 

"Jesus, Rich." Lee drops his bag and rushes over to the bed, heart pounding with concern. "What is the matter? Are you ill?" 

As he leans over the bed to catch a glimpse of Richard's face, he sees that it is a sickly ashen grey. "Richard, please say something," he begs.

He gets a response this time, but with most of Richard's face hidden by the pillow, it is completely unintelligible. 

"I can't hear you, Rich," he says gently, bracing himself on the mattress and leaning closer. "Can you repeat that?" 

Richard shifts his head - the movement, however minimal, seems to take a great effort - and croaks, "Too loud." 

And all of a sudden it sinks in. "Is it migraine?" Lee asks, dropping his voice to a whisper. Richard has told him about these attacks, but this is the first time he sees one in full swing. "How long have you been like this? Philippa's been trying to get a hold of you for days." 

"I don't know where my mobile is," Richard mutters, "battery's probably dead." 

Lee settles down on the bed carefully, guilt and sympathy twisting his gut as he gazes at Richard's prostrate form. Why, why hadn't he tried to reach out sooner, suspected something sooner? Why had he been so quick to draw his own conclusions and throw in the towel? 

"Do you need anything?" he asks. "Have you taken your medication?" He looks around, spots a half-empty glass of water and a strip of over-the-counter painkillers on the nightstand. The orange bottle he expects to see, however, is conspicuously absent. "Rich, where's the oxy you take for your migraines?" 

The answer, once again, is muffled, but Lee is getting better at decoding these sounds. "I don't have any pills left. I threw them out." 

"You threw them out?" Lee sees Richard wincing and immediately brings his voice back down. "Why in god's name would you do that? I asked you to hide them, not get rid of them entirely." 

"I didn't want to take the risk," Richard says miserably. "It didn't seem like a big deal. I haven't had an attack in over six months." 

Lee exhales slowly, feeling a sudden rush of tears to his eyes that no amount of blinking can stop. In that moment, the pain and sadness of the past week fade to insignificance and Lee reaches out with a trembling hand to lightly stroke his fingers through Richard's hair. "Oh god, Richard," he says softly. "Why didn't you ask someone to pick up a repeat prescription for you? Why just lie here and suffer like this?" 

"Thought I could ride it out," comes the indistinct reply. "Graham's out of town. And I didn't want to put that on you, especially after treating you the way I did." 

"Shh," Lee urges, continuing to caress Richard's hair ever so gently. "We're not going to talk about that now. I'll call your doctor and make sure you get some pills for this." 

"No, Lee," Richard protests, and this time he lifts his head to look at Lee with bleary eyes. "I can't-- no, you shouldn't have to do that." 

"It's okay." Lee reaches across the covers to take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. "I can handle it, Richard. Really." The moment he says it, he knows that it is the absolute, unequivocal truth. "I want to help you feel better," he insists. "Please let me." 

Richard sputters and protests some more, but he really is too sick to put up much of a fight and Lee isn't above taking advantage of that, so he launches into action while Richard sinks back into the pillows with a groan and covers his eyes against the minimal amount of daylight filtering through the curtains. It doesn't take Lee long to find Richard's wallet and his GP's contact card tucked inside it, and after some calling back and forth - and holding his cell phone to Richard's ear for confirmation that he is in fact too ill to pick the prescription up himself - Lee races his bike to the pharmacy a few blocks away and shows his ID to the clerk to receive a brown paper bag, the rattling contents of which should help Richard feel somewhat human again. As he puts his precious cargo into his messenger bag, he wonders - just for a moment - what his sponsor would say if he saw him now. 

But Lee isn't worried. Not in the slightest. For the first time in quite a while, his mind is calm and clear with purpose. 

He stops to buy some power food at a local grocery shop on the way back - because God only knows how long it's been since Richard had a decent meal - and returns to the apartment a few minutes later carrying two bags straining at the seams. The first thing he does, of course, is bring the pills in to Richard, who is still prone on the bed in the exact same position as before. After helping him sit up, Lee watches him swallow two of the large capsules with difficulty and refills the glass, which he then presses into Richard's reluctant fingers. "Drink up," he instructs, "you need to hydrate, it's important." 

"Drinking makes me need to pee," Richard rasps. 

"That's the whole point. I'll find you a bucket to piss in if I must, just so long as you keep hydrated." 

After some gentle but firm cajoling from Lee, Richard eventually manages to drink most of the water while Lee rubs his back in soothing circles. "It's stifling in here, Rich," he observes. "Why don't I open a window for some fresh air?" 

Richard shakes his head-- a stiff movement he only manages once. "Too much noise." He glances at Lee briefly, embarrassment oozing from his every pore. "Sorry, Lee." 

"What for?" 

"Everything. Keeping you from work. Being all whiny and disgusting." Richard exhales slowly and looks away. "Treating you like shit ever since..." He doesn't finish. 

"Hush, that's for another time." Lee takes the glass and puts it on the nightstand along with the rest of the pills. "Just lie down and rest." 

Richard gingerly lies down as instructed. "What time is it?" 

Lee quickly checks his cell. "Half past two. Why?" 

"Vincent," Richard mumbles. "I'm playing tonight." 

Baffled, Lee stares at the seriously unwell man on the bed. "Like hell you are. You should feel better in a few hours but those pills can't pull off a miracle, Rich. It's not happening today, I'm sorry." 

"I have to make it. I don't have an understudy. If I'm not there, the show will be cancelled." 

"That's just the way it has to be, then. No one in their right mind would expect you to perform when you're in this state." 

"But people will be disappointed." 

"And that's a pity, but no one has ever died from disappointment. The theatre will give them a refund and they'll see the show on another night, when you're back in top form and can give them your best Theo." 

When he starts to get up from the bed, Richard reaches for him. "Please don't go," he implores hoarsely. 

"I'm not leaving," Lee promises. "I'm just going to call the theatre to let them know you're ill. And I promised Philippa I'd give her an update too; she is very worried about you." 

A grunt. "So you and Philippa are teaming up together against me now?" 

"Just looking out for you, that's all." Lee gives his hand a squeeze before getting up from the bed. "Rest now. I'll check in on you in a bit." 

Leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar, he goes into the living room and calls the theatre, Philippa, and Evie - in that order - before carrying his bags of groceries into the kitchen to stock the fridge. He loads the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and cleans up the kitchen, then does a broader sweep of the rest of the apartment, picking up stray items of clothing and unopened mail. The more he does, the more energetic he gets, and once he is done organizing he spends about fifteen minutes doggedly combing the apartment until he finds an electric fan which he carries into the bedroom and plugs in. It makes a soft humming noise but the cool air immediately brings relief. "Is this okay? Not too loud?" 

"No," Richard sighs. "No, it's nice. Thank you." 

"You're welcome." Lee sits down on the edge of the bed, looking for signs of improvement in Richard's condition. "How are you feeling? Pills kicking in yet?" 

"Nuh." 

Leaning closer on one elbow, Lee shifts more of his weight onto the bed. "Don't suppose I could convince you to eat anything?" 

"Nuh." 

Lee bites his lip and wonders what more he has to offer. "Would it-- would it help if I massaged your head for a bit?" 

Richard drags his eyes open and squints at him for a moment. "Don't know. No one's ever done that for me before." 

"I think it warrants a try. My mom used to do that for my father whenever he got a migraine." Lee kicks his shoes off and eases himself into the empty spot behind Richard, the familiarity of it giving him a pang of wistfulness which he quickly pushes away. He lightly wraps his hands around Richard's skull and places his fingertips against his temples, pressing experimentally. He can feel the pounding rhythm of Richard's pulse against the pads of his fingers. "If I'm making things worse, tell me." 

Richard grunts, but it doesn't appear to be a sound of discomfort, so Lee keeps going, unhurriedly massaging the sides of Richard's head. "How does that feel?" he asks after a while. 

"Bloody good," Richard sighs. "Your fingers are so nice and cool." 

Lee smiles. "My hands and feet are always cold. Long limbs, you know." 

Richard exhales loudly through his nose, the closest thing to laughing he can manage, but it is enough. Encouraged, Lee lets his fingers wander to the front, to Richard's forehead, and then up to the top of his skull, burrowing under his hair and trying to emulate what he recalls seeing his mother doing. After a while he remembers his thumbs and once he starts using those on the back of Richard's skull and neck, Richard curls back against him like a giant, sleepy cat. "Still good?" he can't resist asking, even though the answer is obvious. 

"Yes, god yes." Richard's voice is gravelly and sluggish. "Please keep going." 

Lee does, moving his fingers in slow, deliberate patterns and exerting just enough pressure to make Richard sigh with relief. Gradually the tension in his shoulders dissolves, his breathing evens out and deepens, and Lee can feel Richard's head growing heavier in his hands as he drifts off to sleep. It speaks to how wrung out he is that he falls asleep the moment he gets a tiny bit of reprieve. Lee lets his caresses slowly taper off until he's merely stroking his hair, using his other arm to tug Richard just that little bit closer and savoring that sense of closeness and belonging that he has missed so much. 

He doesn't feel the slightest need to move from this position, and as he lies there listening to Richard's tranquil breathing, he can almost pretend that the past week has never happened. A bone-deep relaxation comes over him, and although he can't remember closing his eyes, by the time he opens them again the light in the room has shifted, his stomach is rumbling and Richard has turned around in his arms. His eyes are open too, gazing into Lee's, and what Lee sees in there - a mix of anxiety, determination and affection - makes his heart leap. 

"How are you?" is the first question that comes out of Lee's mouth, and he draws back slightly to survey Richard's face from a distance. "You look a little better." 

"I feel it, too." Richard's voice is stronger, not quite back to normal but close, and its tender tone is like a drink of cool water after a week in the desert. "Lee, you are incredible and I probably don't deserve you, but can we start over? I've spent a lot of time in my own head this week, maybe a little too much time, and all I've been able to figure out is that I'm bloody miserable without you and that I cocked things up big time. I do want to make this work, Lee, and I'm so sorry I made you think otherwise." 

Lee exhales, long and slow. "I've made mistakes too, and I'm sorry. Things were going so well between us that I got a bit too confident and I let my guard slip. I got careless, and I shouldn't have. And I'm sorry that I gave up on you so quickly and assumed you were just like the others." 

"What others?" 

"My previous boyfriends, who went running for the hills as soon as they found out I was a big letdown in bed and much more work than they were prepared to put in." 

"I do want to put in the work," Richard whispers, the determination in his eyes coming to the forefront. "Really, I do. Which is why I think we should go into therapy together. Sex therapy, possibly." 

Lee feels his heart sink just a fraction. "More therapy? I've been doing that whole thing for years." 

"But I haven't." 

When he sees Richard's earnest gaze, Lee reins the sigh that almost escapes him back in and blushes with shame. Here Richard is, telling him he's willing to do whatever it takes, and Lee can't even do him the same courtesy. "Okay, Rich. It's probably a good idea. Let's give it a try." 

Richard nods, his face relaxing into an expression of relief. "I am so sorry, Lee, so sorry for making you feel unwanted. I got so overwhelmed after what happened, the guilt was damn near tearing me apart." 

"I know," Lee says softly. "I understand, Richard, but it wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault, it just happened and we have to find a way to deal with it and move on. Just... keep communicating with me, okay? If we can't manage that, we're lost. I had to hear from Philippa today that your auditions fell through, and I know we had other things on our plate this week but still, I wish you would have told me. It would have helped me understand why you were withdrawing. I might have been able to talk you out of that hole." 

Richard lowers his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's stupid, I know, but I didn't want you to have to deal with my insecurities on top of everything else. And-- and I didn't want you to think any less of me for not getting those roles." 

"I could never think any less of you for that," Lee quietly declares, and he takes Richard's face between his hands and leans in for a sweet, chaste kiss. Richard sighs against his lips and reciprocates, arms tightening around Lee's waist. 

"I'm sorry you had to drop everything and play nurse to a grumpy patient like me," Richard says after they've pulled apart. 

"I am happy to do it, and I will do it again if and when I have to." He pauses, heart pounding. "Which will be much easier if I move in full time, won't it?" 

Hope lights up Richard's eyes. "Do you mean it?" he asks tremulously. 

Lee nods. "But we're splitting everything down the middle. Rent, grocery money, dog walking duty, everything." 

Slowly, the corners of Richard's mouth curve into a smile. "Still harping on that dog, are you? Me and my big mouth." 

"Do you accept my terms?" 

"Yes, Lee. God, of course, yes." 

"Good." Lee's stomach growls audibly. "Then let's get you in the shower while I go into the kitchen and we'll hash out the details over a bowl of my grandmother's vegetable soup."


	25. Avocet

A few days later it is official. That Saturday morning, after an unconventional English-American breakfast of beans on toast, scrambled eggs and pancakes, they sit down in the living room and ceremoniously open the first of the boxes with Lee's possessions to systematically go through their contents and assign them a place in what is now their apartment. Thanks to Graham, whose first reaction to hearing the news was to unapologetically claim full credit for facilitating their first meeting and who generously made his pick-up truck available, it's only taken one trip to the East Village to transfer all boxes from their temporary storage in the tattoo shop basement to their new home in Chelsea.

Luke had clearly not been very discerning when he packed up Lee's stuff, so every box is a surprise mix of books, CD's, stale-smelling clothes (that immediately find their way into the hamper) and a wide array of other items that tell the story of Lee's life. Some of them bring a wistful smile to his face, like the earless mug Luke had brought home from one of his business trips and some artwork of his that Luke clearly didn't think valuable enough to keep, but other than that the hours pass in complete bliss, with most of Lee's things being assimilated into the household while others - including the earless mug - are deemed fit for the trash or the donation box.

One of the last boxes yields Lee's tattoo machine. "This is yours?" Richard asks, clicking the case open and studying the professional kit in its protective padding. "I didn't know you had your own."

"Of course, every self-respecting artist does. It's been ages since I last used it, though, so I can put it somewhere out of sight if it doesn't fit in with the aesthetic."

"Don't be silly, Lee." Richard smiles as he closes the lid and hands the case back. "This is your home now too, remember? You can put it wherever you like. And we're going to hang up some of your artwork as well."

"How about this?" Lee teases, unrolling a crumpled Metallica poster and holding it up for Richard to see. "Where shall we put this? Bedroom? Or trash?"

"That thing looks positively ancient," Richard says with a deadpan face. "You could probably get some collector to pay money for it on eBay."

"I seriously doubt that," Lee says, and a second later the poster sails through the air in the general direction of the trash bin.

A few minutes later, it is Richard who finds the notebooks.

"What's this?" he says as he holds up the sealed, unmarked envelope and hands it to Lee for perusal. For the briefest of moments, Lee is just as clueless as Richard as to what the envelope contains, but when he tears it open, the three soft cover notebooks that tumble out give him a jolt of recognition. Yes, he knows exactly what they are, what is to be found inside them and how significant it is that they should resurface now. He stops breathing for a long moment and swallows, his tongue suddenly a dead weight inside his mouth.

_Oh, god._

"Lee?" Richard scoots a little closer, concerned eyes not on the notebooks in Lee's lap but on his face, because he senses that something has pulled Lee out of the here and now, and he is learning how to respond when that happens. "Lee, look at me. Take my hand." He holds out his hand where Lee can see it, even with his gaze fixed on the notebooks, and he continues to urge reassuringly, "It's okay, Lee, you're okay. I am here."

Lee eventually manages to lift his hand and reach for Richard's, feeling the gentle wrap of fingers anchoring him and bringing him back to the present moment. That is when he looks up and answers the unspoken question in Richard's eyes. "These are the journals I kept in rehab, the first time around. My therapists encouraged me to work through my emotions by writing it all down, from the accident and dropping out of school to the rape and my time on the streets. So I basically started writing the first day and kept going for the whole three months, but I put them in this envelope the day I left and never looked at them again. God, I didn't even realize I still had them."

Richard picks up the notebooks, bundles them up and carefully puts them back into the envelope. "We don't need to deal with these right now," he calmly suggests. "Let's put them in a safe place and ask Fran what to do with them. Okay?"

A few days previously, Richard had started making calls practically the moment he was well enough to get out of bed, and it had paid off-- he had found a therapist with excellent credentials and somehow sweet-talked his way to the top of her waiting list, so the moment one of her other clients cancelled, they'd been asked to come in with no more than two hours' notice.

Lee had seen his fair share of therapists over the years, some better than others, but he'd had a good feeling about Fran right off the bat. With her wild mass of black hair, wide flowy robes and tinkling bracelets she gave off a distinct hippie vibe, and her work methods were just as unconventional, as was evidenced by the way she folded her legs under her as they took their seats and the first question she asked them, accompanied by a genuine, beaming smile and curious expression. "So, tell me-- how did you two first meet?"

It was the perfect icebreaker. Lee and Richard had exchanged a look of surprise and then started talking at the same time. The ensuing laughter smoothed the knot out of Lee's stomach and he went on to tell the story with relish while Richard offered the occasional embellishment. Fran didn't write anything down, but her attentive expression made it clear that she was absorbing every word.

"So bizarre to think that was only two months ago," Lee said in conclusion, addressing Richard with an incredulous shake of his head, "and that we're already moving in together this weekend."

He half expected Fran to at the very least raise a skeptical eyebrow, much like other people had done when they heard the news, but no-- she clapped her hands in sheer delight. "You are? That is wonderful, congratulations!"

"Thank you," they chorused, and from the corner of his eye Lee could see the same dumb grin on Richard's face that was simultaneously taking shape on his own lips. It was by far the most positive response they'd had so far, and the fact that it came from a relationship and sex therapist made it even more empowering.

That first hour - Richard had been zealous and asked for a double appointment - Lee never actually got the feeling that they were attending a therapy session, and he could tell from the way Richard talked that he was at ease as well. They talked about their respective jobs, dates they'd gone on, conversations they'd had, about pretty much every perceivable topic pertaining to their relationship with the exception of the white elephant in the room-- the reason they'd signed up for therapy barely two months in.

"Okay, Lee," Fran had said at one point, looking at Lee with a glimmer of mischief in her eye, "my next question is for you. Tell me in as many or as few words as you want what attracted you in Richard. You can look at him when you answer if that's easier."

Perhaps to Fran's surprise, Lee had had no qualms whatsoever about answering the question and being quite verbose about it. Without a moment's thought, he'd started waxing poetic about the blue of Richard's eyes and the way his smile exaggerated his crow's feet, about the hypnotizing quality of his voice, about the juxtaposition between Richard's quietness off the stage and his commanding presence on it. He'd made Richard blush with his descriptions of how seeing him perform for the first time had affected him, how staggeringly _talented_ he was and how rare his dedication to the craft. It wasn't until Richard began to physically squirm beside him that he caught himself and gave Fran a self-conscious grin. "Sorry, didn't mean to hog the time."

"It's quite all right, Lee," Fran reassured him with a smile. "Many of my clients would give their last dime to hear their partner talk about them the way you just did about Richard." She looked over at the fidgeting recipient of all that praise. "How does it make you feel, Richard, hearing that?"

"Flattered," Richard said. "Humbled. A little embarrassed."

"Why embarrassed?"

""Because..." Richard gave the question some consideration. "Because I don't recognize the man he describes as myself. I don't see myself as someone at all special. I'm a hard worker, but talented? Not so much."

"Lee clearly doesn't agree. Are you saying he's not being truthful? Or that he doesn't know what he's talking about?"

"He does know what he's talking about," Richard asserted, almost indignantly. "He went to bloody Juilliard, he is more knowledgeable about theatre than many people actually making a living in the industry." Hearing Richard say that so unreservedly gave Lee a small pang of pleasure, and he had to swallow down a bit of a lump while Richard went on with a slightly sheepish expression, "And now that you're making me spell this out I do realize the paradox in what I said, but self-esteem is something I've struggled with for as long as I can remember."

"We'll address that in due course," Fran promised. "For now I would like you to answer the same question I asked Lee. What did you find the most attractive in him when you first met? Or," she suggested teasingly, "maybe you've already given us the answer?"

Unlike Lee, who had immediately started spewing things off the top of his head, Richard had thought about it for half a minute and then said, "I think it was the fact that he was so pleasant to talk to. I'm not the most talkative of people and I felt quite out of my depth going into that tattoo studio - I probably wouldn't even have gone if Graham hadn't twisted my arm - but there he was and he was so nice, relaxed and lovely, even though he rightly called me out on being a narrow-minded douche." A smile passed between them, something warm and flirtatious in Richard's eyes as he added, "And all that aside, it certainly doesn't hurt that he's six foot five of utter gorgeousness."

Somewhere around the halfway mark, however, the mood shifted almost unnoticeably. Fran never actually asked them straight up what had brought them to her doorstep, yet with some cleverly phrased questions she peeled away layer after layer and before Lee knew it, he was dredging up his entire history once again, recounting how he'd almost fallen asleep behind the wheel one night and woken up in the hospital with a mangled back, how he'd slipped into an addiction without even realizing it and lost his sense of self-worth after dropping out of school, how he'd alienated his family and ended up on the street with the drugs as his only, false, friend.

When he described the day Eric had walked into his life, with a benevolent smile and a bulging wallet, he reached for Richard's hand - he didn't have to reach far - and took it, remembering all too vividly how Richard had reacted the first time. This time, thankfully, Richard didn't cry, but he squeezed Lee's hand hard enough to turn the knuckles white as he and Fran listened to the sordid tale Lee had told so many therapists over the years that he had become quite numb to it.

Except this time was different. He didn't know whether to chalk it up to the fact that Richard was sitting beside him, quietly seething and clutching his hand like his life depended on it, but this time the emotions actually did take hold and he had to swallow and blink and swallow some more to make it through the whole story somewhat coherently.

"I am truly sorry to hear you went through an experience like that, Lee," Fran told him earnestly, and to her credit, it didn't sound like such a tired cliché coming from her. "I can see that this is stirring up some powerful emotions for both of you. At what point in your relationship did you tell Richard about your experiences with sexual abuse?"

"I told him after we slept together for the first time," Lee said. "I sprung it on him, rather, and quite bluntly at that. In hindsight, that may have been a mistake. Maybe we wouldn't be here today if I'd been upfront about it from the beginning."

"Do you agree with that, Richard?" Fran asked. "Are there hard feelings on your part about the fact that Lee didn't share his experiences until after you had been intimate?"

"No," Richard said, "because I understand his reasons. He didn't want to give those memories any power over what happened between us. He wanted to feel normal and to be loved without being made to feel like a victim, and how can I blame him for that? If it had been me, I might have done the same thing."

Fran nodded, her gaze shifting back to Lee. "Can you describe how you feel when you think about this man, Eric?"

"Until recently I felt nothing at all, because I had dealt with all those feelings, or so I thought. Now I'm angry again, because he's back inside my head when I least need him. I have this absolutely wonderful man sitting here beside me and I want to start building a future with him, but I feel that my past is holding me back from that."

"I see," Fran said. "You want what everyone wants, which is a loving relationship and a healthy sex life with your partner, but your memories of sexual abuse are resurfacing and getting in the way of that. Have you had sexual partners before Richard?"

Lee nodded. "Including one long-term relationship, but the sex never used to be much of a problem because I made sure nothing happened that I wasn't comfortable with. I guarded my boundaries, and that's something I'm struggling with when it comes to Richard."

"Can you explain why you struggle with it?"

"Because..." Lee gave Richard a sidelong glance. "Because I want to try things with him that I haven't wanted to try before. When I'm with him, I want to relax and just enjoy myself and not feel the need to be in control all the time."

"That is a good sign, Lee, and very understandable, but a transition like that won't come naturally for you. Control gives sexual abuse survivors a sense of safety and security, and that can be very hard to give up. That is not to say that it can't be done, but it will take patience on both your parts. The good news is that I can already tell from the way you interact verbally and physically that you are a very affectionate couple, so that's half the work done already. If you are both willing to work together on building trust and accept that there will be setbacks along the way, then there is no reason why you shouldn't be able to have a normal, fun, satisfying sex life." She gave them an encouraging smile. "Now, I know this may feel awkward at first, but keep in mind that I've been doing this job for almost thirty years and I've pretty much heard it all. Why don't you describe to me in as little or as much detail as you feel comfortable with how your sex life has been thus far."

She was looking at them both, but Lee could tell from Richard's downcast eyes and the press of his lips that nothing was immediately forthcoming. "Would you like me to answer that one?" he asked him, getting a timid nod in response. It was clear that Richard would need a little more time to feel comfortable discussing these intensely private details.

"Well, Fran," he volunteered, "I think I can say without exaggeration that until about a week ago, the sex was really fucking great."

For the next several minutes, Lee described how their physical relationship had evolved in those first few weeks-- not in an obscene amount of detail, but graphic enough to get Richard to cringe and blush, to such a degree that Fran felt the need to address it.

"I can see this makes you very uncomfortable, Richard," she told him gently, "and I know it must feel like an incredible invasion of privacy to share such intimate details with a stranger, but there is no shame in seeking help for these issues. We are brought up to think of sex as a taboo; we all do it, but we don't talk about it, least of all when problems arise. The stigma is very strong. But sex - intimacy - is an intricate part of any love relationship, and open discussion about it should be far more normal than it is. Remember that I am here to help, not to judge. Do you want to try and tell me what changed a week ago?"

To Richard's credit, he did try, stammering his way through a couple of sentences, but he was soon fighting back tears and struggling to keep his composure, the emotion so fresh and raw that it was agonizing for Lee to watch him. Fran passed the box of tissues and Richard blindly grabbed a few, crumpling them between restless, shaking fingers. "I can't," he said hoarsely, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Richard," Fran said. "I know it's hard. Take a few deep breaths. Would you rather Lee tell the rest of it?"

Richard's nod did not come as a surprise, and Lee picked up where he had left off, caressing Richard's knuckles with his thumb as he gave Fran the bare facts of what had happened the week before and his view on what had triggered his reaction. Beside him Richard was very quiet, sitting with his shoulders bowed forward, his fist with the wadded-up tissues inside resting on his thigh. However when Fran asked Richard to describe his feelings in that moment, he'd opened his mouth and words had started tumbling out, slowly at first and then faster and faster, like an avalanche of distress and self-blame that even took Lee aback, despite having already experienced the depth of Richard's remorse.

"It was all my fault." Those were the words Richard repeated over and over again. "I knew what he had experienced, and yet I allowed it to happen. That is the thought that has been running through my head ever since. I should have noticed when he froze up, no, I shouldn't have let things get that far to begin with. If only I hadn't been so damn focused on my own bloody self."

He was almost crying again at this point, and Lee felt a telltale pressure behind his eyes as well. "Please don't, baby," he pleaded, at which point Fran had intervened and said that it was important to acknowledge all emotions involved, including Richard's guilt.

"How would you say you handled these feelings in the wake of what happened?" she asked Richard, who gave a quick, bitter laugh.

"Catastrophically," he said. "I couldn't show him affection after that and completely withdrew to stew in my misery. Every time Lee tried to introduce intimacy again I would freeze up with fear and push him away. It was awful."

Fran had started making notes at some point and continued asking questions-- how sexually active had they been this past week (not at all), had they tried other ways to be intimate and show affection (quite conservatively, with kisses and cuddles) and had they sat down together to openly and frankly discuss their expectations and establish some ground rules? The answer to that last question was a resounding silence.

"Well," Fran said as she closed her notebook, "I think I have a pretty clear idea of what issues need addressing, and I want to thank you both for your honesty and willingness to share. I won't lie, there is some work to be done, so I think that it would be best for now if we see each other regularly. Two to three sessions each week, would you be willing to commit to that?"

They had shared a glance and nodded, and then the three of them had pulled out their organizers (or cell phone, in Lee's case) and marked down times and dates for the next few weeks.

"Okay," Fran said, "before we finish for the day, I'll give you some golden rules that you can start implementing straight away. First off, be respectful of each other's needs and fears when it comes to intimacy. It sounds obvious, I know, but you'd be surprised how many couples forget this one. Make a list of things you both feel comfortable with and keep to that list. Don't be afraid to scratch intercourse and some of the more conventional ways to be intimate from your repertoire for now and experiment with others; there are so many enjoyable things you can do that too often get overlooked. Intimacy can be as simple as holding hands, or having a conversation, or doing one of the touching exercises I will give you later on. But it is very important that when you show each other affection, you do it with attention. That means television off, cell phones off, books away and really taking some time out of your day to focus on each other. And I realize that this may sound like odd advice given your history, Lee, but try to bring the element of fun back into sex. People tend to take sex far too seriously. It's okay to be a little silly and laugh on occasion. Laughter relaxes the body and the brain, and that is incredibly beneficial.

"Finally, and this might be the most challenging one of all-- communicate, communicate, communicate." She gesticulated to underscore the word all three times. "I know this is tough, believe me. I have a husband and two sons, I am all too familiar with the lengths most men go to to avoid talking about their feelings. Yes, Richard, I see you looking shifty over there, but it is so essential to keep talking to each other. And once you get the hang of it, I promise you will start seeing the results and even learn to enjoy it. Verbal communication is intimacy too; treat it as such." She smiled, giving them a moment to let it all sink in. "So in between unpacking boxes, try to draw up a list over the weekend, and we'll pick things up again in three days."

They'd thanked Fran and stepped back into the bustle of New York at lunch hour, a world of overwhelming color and noise compared to the place of introspection they had left behind. Still feeling raw from the long, emotional session, they'd gone for a stroll in nearby Washington Square Park to acclimatize. Near the Garibaldi monument they'd stopped, wrapped their arms around each other and stood cheek to cheek for a while, savoring a moment of shared silence that felt like the most solemn of promises.

Not long after Richard has put the notebooks in one of his desk drawers to await their next session with Fran, Lee makes a disquieting find of his own. Hidden between some old tattoo and art magazines are several faded childhood pictures, including one of himself in a graduation cap and gown, flanked by his proudly smiling parents. It feels like an image from another lifetime, the joyousness captured by the camera long since faded, much like the photograph itself. He wordlessly hands Richard the picture.

"This is the first family picture I've seen of you," Richard comments as he pores over the image. "I can see both of them in you, especially your dad. You have his chin and mouth, even more so now than you did then."

The next memento Lee pulls out of the box is one he's even less prepared for, and his soft gasp of recognition prompts Richard to lean in and look at the framed letter with the embossed Juilliard letterhead.

 _Dear Mr. Pace_ , it says, _it gives me tremendous pleasure to inform you that the Juilliard Drama Faculty and the Committee on Admissions have granted you admission to the Acting program at The Juilliard School for the upcoming academic year._

"It was my mom's idea to have it framed," Lee recalls, staring at those words and remembering how he'd read them over and over again when the letter first arrived, the long-awaited answer to his boyhood prayers.

As he sits there biting back tears, Richard rubs his back gently. "Maybe it's time to take a break from all this, go out for lunch and some fresh air. What do you reckon?" 

Lee nods absently and takes the picture from Richard's hand, sighing deeply. The picture and the letter have awakened an idea that has long slumbered inside him like a beast in hibernation, waiting for the first signs of spring. "I think there is something I have to do first. Something I've been putting off for far too long." 

"You want to call them?" If Richard is surprised, he hides it well. "You know I fully support that idea, Lee, but are you sure that now is the right time? Wouldn't you rather wait until you're in a better place mentally?" 

"I've been waiting for over a decade to be in a better place, mentally or otherwise," Lee replies. "I'm sure I could wait another ten years and still find reasons to put it off. I just want to apologize for hurting them, Richard, that's all. I have no expectations beyond that, so if nothing comes of it, I'll be okay, I promise. I figure I don't have much to lose and everything to gain." 

Richard smiles gently. "All right, love. If you're sure that's what you want to do, I'm here for you." 

They settle on the couch, side by side, one of Richard's arms wrapped bracingly around Lee's shoulder. "It will be fine, Lee," he promises as Lee scrolls down his contact list with shaking fingers and selects the number tagged 'Mom and Dad'. "Everything's going to be okay."

Lee closes his eyes and focuses on those words, on the reassuring weight of Richard's arm, and on the mental image of the phone ringing in this parents' living room, one of them walking up to it and reaching for the horn--

"Hello?"

He can't help but feel a tiny bit relieved that it is his mother who answers. "Hi," he croaks, reaching for Richard's hand and clasping it tight. "Hi, Mom. It's me."

The greeting is staggeringly inadequate and lacking in eloquence, but hearing his mother's voice for the first time in over a decade has left him floundering for words. And the silence that descends suggests speechlessness on the other end as well.

"I was just calling," he plunges on, "to let you know that I'm doing okay, and that I'm really sorry for everything, and that you should send the Christmas newsletter to a different address this year, because I'm moving, I'm moving in with my boyfriend, and I know we never really got to talk about this, but I'm gay, and I wanted to call so many times, Mom, but I never felt like I was in the right place for it and now I think that maybe I am." He is rambling and he knows it, but he can't seem to stop; everything he's ever wanted to tell his parents comes pouring out in a torrent of words. "I know I'm a disappointment to you and Dad, but I'm not a failure, Mom. I'm clean and respected for what I do and I'm in love with someone really wonderful and trying to accept myself for who I am. And I'm happy, Mom." He stops and takes a deep breath, possible the first since his mother picked up. There is still silence on the other end, interspersed now with the soft sounds of weeping. It startles him. "Mom?"

"Oh, Lee," his mother says in a strangled tone, "I almost didn't recognize your voice. You sound so different than the last time I spoke to you. I always hoped you would call one day, but I never stopped to realize that you wouldn't be a boy anymore but a man. I'm sorry I'm crying, it's just a shock. You sound so good, so mature. It makes me so happy that you're doing well. Dad will be happy too, and Ann. She and the girls came to visit just a few days ago."

Lee's face crumples at that and he chokes out a sob, pitching forward and covering his face as he starts to cry. "Take it, take it," he begs Richard, holding out the phone from which he can hear his mom's concerned voice repeating his name.

"Hello?" Richard says into the phone as he gently rubs Lee's jolting shoulders. "Mrs. Pace, this is Richard, Lee's boyfriend. I'm sorry, but Lee is getting a bit overwhelmed by it all. I know it's been a long time, but everything he said is true and you have every right to be proud of him. Yes, I think it would be best to continue this conversation once the emotions have ebbed away a bit, maybe later today or tomorrow. We're in the midst of moving Lee's things in, so it's all a bit hectic at the moment. Yes, that sounds good. What?" A pause. "No, I do not in fact have family obligations at Thanksgiving. My whole family lives in England. Lee and I might be going there for Christmas break, actually. That's very kind of you, ma'am. Yes, Lee and I will talk about it and get back to you. Okay, thank you, have a good day."

Once he's hung up, Richard pulls Lee closer and tucks him into his arms. "We're invited for Thanksgiving in Texas," he informs Lee, whose sobs gradually taper off to sniffles. "Are you okay, love?"

"Yeah." Lee curls his arms around Richard's waist and burrows even closer. "I'm making your neck and collar all wet, though. And I wish I could have been a little more coherent on the phone and had an actual conversation."

"Don't worry about it. This is only the first step. I'm proud of you, Lee."

Lee exhales at that, and with the escaping air he feels the tension leaving his body as well. "Hey, by the way," he murmurs after a minute or two, blissfully nestled in Richard's embrace. "I didn't know you were thinking about whisking me off to England for Christmas."

"Well..." Richard smiles. "I am, and now you do."


	26. Grebe

Two weeks later, on their way home from lunch at a recently opened Moroccan restaurant a few streets down from their apartment, Richard bites the bullet and tells Lee that he wants to read the notebooks.

The request doesn't come as a surprise. They've talked about the notebooks extensively in therapy, and when Richard asked Fran up-front if reading them was something he should consider, she replied that only he could make that decision. As useful a tool as the journals may be in terms of helping Richard understand what Lee went through and how to avoid triggers in the future, they will make for a difficult and emotionally taxing read and Fran assured Richard that no one could blame him if he decided to wait a while, or even not to read them at all. When they got home later that day, they put the journals back in the desk drawer and let the matter rest for the time being, but Lee was sure it was only a matter of time before Richard would bring it up again.

With _Vincent_ 's successful run come to an end - the closing performance was last night - and no new projects lined up as of yet, it is no coincidence that Richard is asking for the journals today. He hasn't complained, but taking on board an intensive therapy regime in the final weeks of the play can't exactly have been easy, even for an inveterate professional like him. Reading the journals on top of that and filling his head with their dark contents while he was still under contract and performing to an almost full house four nights a week posed a risk, one Richard understandably didn't want to take. But as of today, everything is different, and Richard clearly doesn't need any more time to make up his mind. The way he sets his jaw and meets Lee's eyes with determination tells Lee enough.

"Okay, babe," Lee says simply, reaching for Richard's hand and giving it a slight squeeze of concession. "Whenever you're ready."

Half an hour later Richard is all settled in at the kitchen table with the notebooks and a strong cup of home-brewed coffee in front of him (Lee, a self-proclaimed coffee snob, has already started campaigning for a high-end espresso machine to replace the prehistoric drip brewer, but so far Richard doesn't seem very receptive to the idea).

"I won't breathe down your neck," Lee says as he leans in to kiss Richard on the cheek. "I'm just going to sketch and listen to some music, okay?"

Richard nods, and Lee gathers up his art supplies, iPod and cup of coffee and gets nestled into the corner of the couch he's claimed as his own.

It feels strange, in a way, to stay in the room while Richard quietly delves into his journals from rehab and by extension into the darkest and ugliest chambers of his mind, especially when it would be far easier to take himself out of the situation and leave the apartment for a few hours. But when they discussed this matter with Fran, she had been very emphatic that Lee remain present the whole time, for answering the inevitable questions and for dialoguing immediately afterwards. The journals are bound to stir up emotions that will need to be properly dealt with, and dialogue, as Fran reminds them over and over again, is a necessary step in that process.

Lee has of course tried to prepare Richard for what he is going to find, but it's been so long and those months in rehab were so surreal that he can only recall fractions of what he wrote. He remembers there were days when he couldn't even summon the energy to put pen to paper, and then there were days when he just blurted everything that came to mind onto the page. Sometimes the only way to express himself was through drawing, and Lee has made sure to warn Richard about that as well, because he remembers enough about those drawings to know that some of them will be upsetting to look at. His attempts at depicting the rapes started out sketchy and unrefined, just two faceless figures joined in what was undoubtedly a sex position, but as the weeks went by the drawings evolved and became more detailed, more graphic, approaching a gritty realism that left little to the imagination. The last blank to be filled in had been Lee's own face, contorted and showing an expression of disgust. The picture was so true to life that Joan, his therapist at the time, had been able to look at it only for a moment and then given him a very unprofessional - but not unwelcome - hug.

Part of Lee does not want Richard to see those drawings, not now and not ever. Part of him wants those notebooks to go up in flames and the memories with them, but realistically, he knows that he is stuck with those memories for good; the best he can hope for is that he will find a way to accept that they are a part of him and to gently lull them back to sleep.

But ironically, before he can do that, before he can put those demons well and truly to rest, he has to bring them forth into broad daylight and have them prodded and pored over, not by a therapist but by someone who has become very important to him in a very short time. He has to lay himself completely bare, the one thing he has been adamant about _not_ doing all these years.

It inevitably means that he has to work on changing a few old, deeply ingrained habits, and he would be lying if he said that that thought doesn't scare him.

At the moment, though, with Richard reading at the kitchen table and Lee freehanding on the couch, it almost feels like any regular Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately the peaceful domesticity of it is made less than perfect by the stiff set of Richard's shoulders as he slowly leafs through the first of the journals, the dark tension emanating from him a clear indication that he isn't merely reading the newspaper. Although they have been trying their very best to keep their sense of humor throughout this whole process - something which Fran encourages - at this very minute all Lee wishes is that he knew of a way to make this easier, that Richard didn't have to do this and that they could just go on living their lives.

He's already had a taste of how sweet it could be.

Going from dating to sharing close quarters has been a surprisingly easy transition to make, and with the help of the tools Fran has given them they are slowly starting the process of rebuilding their physical relationship. They have made the decision to take sex in all its forms off the table for now, and despite initial reservations Lee has to concede that the results are pretty staggering. It's brought about a particularly significant change in Richard, who already seems much more relaxed and is once again initiating physical contact the way he used to. It's also made Lee realize how much pressure he was putting on Richard by doggedly insisting on sex in the wake of that traumatic night, and how counterproductive that really was. Thinking back on it now puts a blush of shame on his face. They may not be having sex at the moment, but they do fall asleep cuddling every night and somehow, in light of where they were a few weeks ago, that seems much more valuable.

Yes, they are definitely reaping the benefits of therapy, which is a good thing, because the sessions are positively _grueling_. The two of them always leave Fran's practice feeling wrung dry emotionally, and as a result, taking a stroll through Washington Square Park to recharge afterwards has become a necessary part of the routine. While the sessions always start and end on a light note, Fran doesn’t shy away from the nitty gritty and especially Richard finds himself struggling with the delicate topics they are there to discuss. Fran is endlessly patient, however-- with her fine tools and surgeon-like precision she prods and dissects until she's meticulously cut away all the excess layers and is pinpointing the very core of the issue.

It is a testament to her skill that it took her only two weeks to coax a confession from Richard that might have taken lesser therapists months to extract, and it marked their first real breakthrough a few days ago.

They had been talking about the events of what they both referred to as 'that night' - a standard fixture in their sessions with Fran - and as was common, Richard had gradually become quieter and more drawn in on himself the longer Fran circled that incredibly sensitive topic. On previous occasions, Fran had refrained from pressing him too hard, but this time she had started to dig for the root of Richard's guilt, intent on exposing it and tearing it out.

And god, expose it she did.

Lee couldn't remember later how Fran had phrased the question that had proven pivotal, but he remembered Richard's answer with all too painful clarity. The words, near inaudible as they had been, slashed like knives.

"Sometimes," Richard said in a cracking voice, "I can't help but feel that I raped him too, in a way. I mean, I never wanted to, obviously, but in the end what is the difference? The fact that he had to beg me to stop speaks for itself..."

He'd said more than that, much more, because once Richard decided to talk there was no stopping him, and Lee had just sat there motionless, numbed and paralyzed with horror as the unstoppable flood of words crashed over him and knocked him breathless. Every fiber in his being wanted to rise in protest against what Richard was saying, to burst out in vehement denials and tell him how mistaken he was, but he'd been rendered physically incapable of speech and he was sure that Fran would have shut him down if he'd tried. Richard's feelings were valid and deserved to be heard, no matter how desperate Lee was to end this torture for both of them.

Richard eventually ran out of steam and began struggling for coherency, but there was no relief for Lee as at this point Richard started to cry, which was even worse. He sobbed hoarsely, with wheezing breaths and gasps that were daggers to Lee's heart. Lee still sat as if frozen, hands curled into tight fists in his lap, and he looked at Fran plaintively, begging her without words not to let this suffering continue.

"Lee?" she prompted, giving him an encouraging nod. "Would you like to react to what Richard just said?"

Lee hadn't hesitated to grasp Richard's hands and clutch them in his before emphatically denying all of his claims. "What you said is not true, Rich," he insisted. "That is not what happened, so don't even think it, you hear? Please, put it out of your thoughts. I know all too well what rape is, and it is not that. It is _not_."

Needless to say that they'd made a sizable dent in Fran's seemingly endless supply of tissues that day, but Fran had calmly talked them through the moment and congratulated them on their progress afterwards. It hadn't felt like something worth celebrating at the time, but once they got outside and stood on the sidewalk squinting dazedly in the bright sunlight, they'd suddenly started grinning at the same time, joined hands and made a dash for the ice cream cart across the road.

Five minutes later they were good-naturedly squabbling over ice cream flavors as if nothing could be of greater concern than that, and Richard berated Lee for picking the bubblegum and then wanting to trade a lick of it for Richard's pistachio.

"Don't be such a snob, Rich," Lee teased as he held the cone with the scoop of unnaturally blue ice cream under Richard's nose. "So what if it is a kiddie flavor? Don't knock a thing until you've tried it. I'll even let you go first, how's that for a deal?"

Looking extremely dubious, Richard stuck out the tip of his tongue to take a tiny lick, furrowing his nose in anticipatory disgust. Once the flavor settled in his mouth, however, his expression softened into one of nostalgic wonder and he grabbed the wrist of Lee's retreating hand to pull it back to his mouth.

"Hey!" Lee protested, laughing as Richard took a far more substantial, savoring lick with the flat of his tongue. "That means I get two of yours, as well."

"Yeah, yeah." Richard smiled and licked the stickiness from his lips. It drew Lee's gaze to his mouth, and for a moment Lee had to fight the impulsive urge to wrap his arm around Richard's neck and take over. He imagined that the contrast between his warm mouth and Richard's cold one would make for an amazing kiss. "I haven't tasted anything quite so disgustingly sugary in over thirty years, Lee. Reminds me of trips to the funfair with my grandfather when I was a wee lad."

Lee gave him a smug grin. "Told you you'd like it, Mr. Highbrow. Now let me lick yours, come on."

The double entendre was unintentional, but that didn't stop Lee from enjoying its effect on Richard, whose face and ears pinked up at the implication. There was something so delightfully satisfying about making a grown man blush. In a way, it felt as though they had started fresh and were doing the mating dance all over again. There was a certain thrill in that.

Their childlike elation that afternoon was odd to say the least, and more than a little inappropriate given what they'd been discussing just half an hour earlier, but they were both more than happy to milk the mood for all it was worth, taking their time for their turn about the park and licking at their ice creams as slowly as the mid-July sun allowed. Conversation had been light, inconsequential, but there was one issue on Lee's mind he didn't want to keep skirting any longer.

"Rich," he said as they were watching a group of street entertainers, close enough to the central fountain that they could feel the cool spray of the water on their faces, "I've decided I want to do the O'Gorman article."

"You have?" There was some curiosity in the sidelong glance Richard gave him, but overall he didn't seem as surprised as Lee had expected. "What made you change your mind?"

"Something O'Gorman said," Lee replied, thinking of the reporter's bereaved aunt and uncle. "Don't get me wrong, I think the guy is a douche and that's unlikely to change, but I do think that his reasons for wanting to write this article are sincere. And... I don't know. I think it could be a good thing. I wouldn't want to be branded a role model, but maybe my story will serve some educational purpose. If it keeps just one person from going down the same path, it will be worth something, right?"

"Absolutely." Richard turned away from the performance to face him more fully. "Have you called him yet?"

"No, I wanted to discuss it with you first." Lee bit his lip, giving Richard a questioning look. "Do you think it's the right decision?"

"I'm not the one who can decide that, Lee. It has to be the right decision for you. I will support you either way." Conceding to Lee's anxious look, he eventually smiled and reached for his hand. "It's a brave decision, Lee, and I'm proud of you. Would you care for some unsolicited advice?"

"Please, go ahead."

"Ask O'Gorman for copy approval, and get something in writing before you give the okay. That way there won't be any unpleasant surprises further down the line. Make sure you talk to Philippa, she has experience with this sort of thing, and she knows a lot of people besides. If you need O'Gorman's credentials checked, she's your woman."

Lee's mind immediately conjured up an amusing image of Philippa as a private investigator, donning sunglasses and a hat and snooping around in people's garbage. He shared it with Richard, who laughed as well. "I could picture Phil as a PI, actually. She enjoys poking around in other people's personal lives, that's a fact, so why not make a living out of it?"

They were interrupted by applause-- the street entertainers had just performed an impressive acrobatic stunt.

"Have you thought about telling your parents?" Richard asked as the act continued. "About the interview, I mean."

Lee nodded thoughtfully. Since that first emotional phone call two weeks earlier he had spoken to his father and his sister Ann as well, and although they were taking things slow - for now they had agreed on one phone call every three weeks - Lee felt cautiously optimistic on that front. Thanksgiving was still more than four months away-- he hoped they would have made enough progress by then that he could actually fly out to Texas for the holiday, see his family, meet his nieces and introduce Richard. The fact that his mother had thought to include Richard in her spontaneous invitation filled him with hope that his sexuality wouldn't actually prove the insurmountable problem to them he'd always expected it to be.

"I think I probably should prepare them well in advance," he told Richard. "Seeing my tatted body plastered all over some magazine might be a bit of a shock to them, let alone the story itself. But there is still time; first I have to call O'Gorman and see if he's still interested. For all I know, he's forgotten all about it and moved on to the next scoop."

The street performers finished their act not much later, and as the crowd slowly dispersed, Richard and Lee had continued their leisurely walk, ice creams long gone but their hands still linked between them.

When Lee jolts out of his reminiscing and looks at the clock, he realizes it's been over an hour since Richard began reading and he hasn't said a word all this time. He is very still, sitting in a hunched-over position-- elbows on the table, head resting heavily on his hands and one of the journals open in front of him. He appears to be entirely absorbed by its contents, miles away in thought, and Lee decides that it's time to bring him back from that dark place before it overwhelms him. He gets up and clears his throat as he approaches, making sure that Richard doesn't startle when he stands behind him and gently rubs his shoulders. He notices that Richard's mug is still half full, the coffee forgotten and gone cold.

"Come on," he cajoles softly, running his fingers through Richard's hair in that way he knows works as an instant relaxant. "You've been reading long enough, it's time to take a break."

He pulls Richard to the couch and sits him down between his legs to continue massaging his head and neck, something he's taken to doing more often in hopes of staving off future migraine attacks. Whether it will work is anybody's guess, but the activity never fails to reduce Richard to purring with bliss and that alone is a good enough reason for Lee.

"Talk to me, Rich," he encourages the other man as he lets his fingers wander underneath the collar of Richard's shirt and work the corded muscles with his thumbs. "I can tell that the cogs in your head are working overtime, so let's hear those thoughts and go from there. Dialogue, remember?"

Richard sighs. "I don't really know where to begin. It's all really overwhelming, Lee."

"I know, baby," Lee says comfortingly. "But we have time, we don't have to cover it all in one day. Just start somewhere, anywhere."

There is a prolonged silence, but Lee exercises patience and waits, knowing that pressing Richard any harder might cause him to only clam up more. Eventually he hears him taking a steeling breath.

"Eric," he says slowly. It is the first time that he's ever let his mouth form the name of Lee's abuser, and it clearly costs him a great deal of effort, but Fran would no doubt call it progress. "Take me back to the day you met him. Tell me exactly what happened."


	27. Buzzard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to and some non-detailed descriptions of sexual abuse told in flashback. I've marked the potentially upsetting part with asterisks (**) at the beginning and the end so that people can choose to skip it.

On previous occasions, even during the sessions with Fran, Lee had always told the story of how Eric had come into his life in broad strokes. This time, however, he spares neither Richard nor himself, digging up every detail he can remember of that day when he'd approached a guy in one of the parking lots he used to frequent and asked if he was willing to part with a dollar or two. It was a routine he performed all day every day, and he was good at it. He took care of his appearance and made sure to be courteous, and people generally found him charming, especially women of his mother's age, who probably saw something of a son in him.

But there were no middle-aged women in the parking lot that particular afternoon and Lee was desperate for a fix, so he couldn’t afford to be picky. He'd zeroed in on his victim of choice - a blond forty-something in full midlife crisis, if the expensive leather jacket and swanky Range Rover were anything to go by - and started rattling off his usual pitch: he was a struggling artist, looking for a job and in need of some money for train fare to go to an interview out of town. Of all the stories he had tried out during his time as a vagabond, that one had proven to be the most successful, possibly because it was as close to the truth as he felt comfortable sharing-- and he could prove being an artist easily enough by showing people the sketchbook he always carried around with him.

The man, however, hadn't bought into any of it. "You look a right mess, kid. Why don't you cut the bullshit and tell me what you really need the money for?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You need a fix, yeah? I know the look when I see it. What's your poison?"

These were not the questions Lee was used to being asked, and paranoia immediately kicked in. He could feel adrenaline starting to circulate, preparing his body for flight. "Sir, I don't know what you're talking about--"

"I'm not a cop." The man smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Eric and I work in finances. Relax, kid, I'm not going to make trouble for you. What's your name?"

Lee had several street aliases at the ready, all of which were based on characters he'd played in high school or during his time at Juilliard. "It's Roy."

They'd driven around in Eric's Range Rover for over half an hour until Lee spotted one of his dealers and scored his fix. Eric had then parked the car somewhere discreet and looked on while Lee mixed and crushed the pills with shaking hands and snorted the powder. The high was almost instantaneous. "Thanks," he muttered as he leaned back in relaxation, and it wasn't until that moment that it occurred to him the man might be expecting more than a ‘thank you’ in return for his generosity. Lee had been warned to watch out for types like him-- perverts who looked harmless enough but liked to prey on addicts. Getting into this guy’s car might just have been the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

But Eric was nothing if not patient, exuding only concern and sympathy as he looked Lee up and down. "You're skin and bones, son. How about you come back to my place, take a hot shower and have a decent meal. Sounds good?"

And Lee, high and hungry and overly confident as he was, convinced that he had himself and this situation fully in hand, had sealed his own fate with a woozy grin and a nod. "Yep, sounds perfect."

Eric maintained the friendly uncle routine for a few days. He'd offered Lee the guest bedroom, cooked him meals and kept the drugs coming. Lee didn't realize until later that this was Eric's twisted way of romancing him, whilst buying his loyalty at the same time.

 ****** Before long, though, he'd started changing his tune. "Your eyes are so pretty," he would say in a lovesick tone, touching Lee in ways that were very unbefitting a surrogate uncle. And when Lee didn't object - he was so out of it most of the time that Eric's advances couldn't disturb him too much – these things became the norm rather than the exception. When Eric took his hand and put it on his fly one day, Lee had resigned himself to the activity because he figured that getting the man off would be quicker and easier than having to listen to his nagging. Nothing ruined a perfectly good high like Eric's whining did. And in the grand scheme of things, a lazy hand job didn't seem like such a high price to pay for what he was getting in return.

But of course, that hand job had only been the beginning, the first step on the stairway down to a whole new kind of hell.

The first time Eric tried to guide Lee's head down to his crotch, Lee had abruptly pulled away. "Fuck no, I'm not doing that."

"Why not?" Eric demanded, pouting. It was a ridiculous look on a grown man of almost fifty. "I thought you liked me."

"I do," Lee lied, suppressing a shiver of disgust and forcing a smile. "I just don't feel like blowing you, all right?"

Eric tried again the following day, and again the day after that. Lee's third refusal brought out an extremely unpleasant side in him. "Suck my cock, you little shit," he gritted out, cruelly twisting his fingers in Lee's hair hard enough to make him hiss. "You don't want to be ungrateful, do you?"

When it was done, Eric had showered him with affection and praise. "You're my sweet boy, Roy," he murmured, holding him close while all Lee wanted was to lock himself in the bathroom for a cry and to rinse his mouth with Listerine. "My sweet, sweet boy."

In the months that followed, Lee made concession after concession to keep Eric off his back. Moving from the guest bedroom into the master, kissing and cuddling and whispering endearments that made his skin crawl, massaging the man's feet after he came home from work - he had a respectable job as chief financial officer at a large nonprofit organization - and doing his part to keep the travesty going. He lost all touch with reality and rarely even left the house-- he hadn't had many friends left to begin with, but Eric saw to it that Lee became completely isolated and dependent on him.

And slowly but surely, shred by shred, he gave up all dignity and sense of self-worth.

In a way, the first few times Eric fucked him were the worst because in the beginning he insisted on doing it face to face and expected Lee to have an orgasm as well, working his cock persistently and with little finesse. But enjoying _this_ was not something Lee could fake. Over time, he learned that by taking the right cocktail of pills beforehand he could occasionally get a hard-on and even reach climax a handful of times, which felt so vile and shameful that it always had him sobbing afterwards. Thankfully, after a while, Eric grew tired of those off-putting crying fits and decided that it was easier to let Lee zone out while he had his way with him, and proceedings became marginally more bearable from that point on. ******

"I don't know why I didn't decide to walk out much sooner," Lee muses, his fingers combing idly through Richard's hair. "It's not like he physically restrained me or locked me up in the house, but the feeling of entrapment was there all the same. I hated that man with every fiber of my being, and at the same time I felt like there was no one in the world whom I could trust other than him. I know it sounds strange but that was my reality. He had some sort of hold over me that I still can't explain."

Richard, who has been listening without interrupting, stirs at this and gets up from the floor to sit beside Lee. "The important thing is that you did get out of that situation in the end," he says quietly as Lee cozies up to him and disappears into the circle of his arms. Richard responds by holding him tight. "It is so hard to listen to you describing that hell, Lee; I can't begin to imagine being in the middle of it and experiencing it like you have. For what it's worth, I think you are incredibly brave for sharing that part of your life with me, for letting me read your journals with those horrifying drawings. I am so in awe of your courage. You are truly extraordinary."

"I don't think I am," Lee squeaks from where his face is buried against Richard's chest.

"I know you don't. That is why I will keep reminding you over and over again, for as long as it takes."

"I am so sorry for putting you through all this crap."

"Please, Lee, there is nothing for you to apologize for. I have made mistakes I wish I could make undone, but I have no regrets about you, no regrets about you whatsoever." Richard nuzzles the top of Lee's head. "Do you think we can continue dialoguing at another time? There is something else I want to talk to you about. Something I really need to get off my chest."

"Sure." Lee pulls away slightly to look at Richard in concern. "What is it?"

"The dressing room, last night?" The little smile on Richard's face broadens into a cheeky grin. "That was amazing."

It went without saying that Lee had been in the audience the night before when Richard gave his last - and arguably, best - performance as Theo van Gogh, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd wiped away a tear of pride at the end, when the audience paid tribute with a thunderous standing ovation and Richard had to do curtain call after curtain call. Afterwards he'd snuck backstage and surprised Richard in his dressing room with an abundant bouquet of sunflowers. (The sketch he'd made on the night of the premiere had since been framed and given a place of prominence on one of their living room walls.) Richard blushed underneath his thick layer of stage make-up as he took them and anxiously asked his usual question. "How was I?"

"Breathtakingly, devastatingly good," Lee replied with complete sincerity. "How do you feel right now?"

"Relieved, drained and a little crushed, to tell you the truth." Richard carefully put the flowers on his dressing table and used a disposable towel to dab his face. "Theo's been good to me. I'll miss him."

"I know. I'll miss him, too." Lee leaned against the nearby sink with his hip and folded his arms. "Come on, let's head into the bar and celebrate with a drink for old times' sake, my treat."

"Actually, Lee..." Richard gave him a guilty look. "If it's all right by you, I think I'd rather go home, put my feet up and spend what's left of the evening on the couch with you, a bowl of popcorn and a dumb movie. I suppose that's the advantage of doing a one-man play-- not having to attend one of those obnoxious afterparties."

"Right." Lee rubbed his neck sheepishly. "So, uh, you probably wouldn't be too pleased if I were to tell you that there's a bunch of people waiting in the bar right now and that I'm supposed to lure you there under false pretenses?"

"Oh god, a surprise party?" Richard's shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "And you're in on it?"

"Theatre management arranged it. They want to give you a proper send-off. It's all good people out there, Rich; Philippa and Graham should be there, and Jed and Adam and the rest of the gang. I know you're tired and don't enjoy doing the social thing and being the center of attention and all, but you'll be glad you went later. And you don't have to give a speech if you don't want to, I promise. But, uh, if you could act all surprised and like you had no idea, that would be great."

Richard sighed and dabbed his face again, eventually reemerging with a conceding smile. "All right, Lee. So long as I get to shower first and have you there as my date, I promise I will suffer through this graciously."

"Both are acceptable. And I'll throw in a coupon for a foot rub as an added enticement, how's that?"

"Mmm." Richard's face brightened considerably at the prospect, and he reached for his throat to untie the silk cravat of his costume. "How soon can we leave without seeming rude?"

Lee didn't answer, suddenly distracted as he watched Richard's fingers deftly working the cravat. "Wait," he said, pushing himself away from the sink and crossing the distance in two brisk steps. "Don't take it off just yet. There is something I have to do first."

Richard dropped his hands, giving him a questioning look, but before he could say anything Lee curled his fingers around the loose ends of the cravat and into the front of Richard's shirt and slowly, deliberately backed him up until he was pressed against the counter of the make-up vanity. "I've wanted to do this since premiere night," he confessed, smiling as he watched Richard's eyes go slightly wide in surprise. "This is my last chance."

He lowered his gaze to Richard's mouth and noted the audible hitch in the other man's breath as he went for it, softly pressing their lips together and then less softly when Richard sighed and tilted his head into the kiss. It was a tentative but very encouraging response, and Lee took Richard's lower lip between his and sucked it gently, tasting salty sweat and stale make-up.

Every kiss has an early tipping point, where a decision must be made to either break it or let it continue. That moment came and went and still the kiss kept growing in length, better yet, they only fell into it deeper, moving their mouths together slowly but ever more surely. There had been plenty of kisses over the last few weeks, but nothing remotely like this, not since before things had started falling apart that day at Coney Island. Richard sighed again and relaxed his jaw when Lee nudged his lips further apart with his tongue and curled it into his mouth, and something warm settled in the pit of Lee's stomach, expanding as Richard's tongue pressed forward shyly and met his.

It was a breathless, crystallized moment in time, and Lee reluctantly freed up his mouth just enough to whisper against the other man's lips, "Use your hands, Rich. Touch me."

Up until that point, Richard had kept his arms rigid next to his sides, bracing himself on the countertop behind him, but now he lifted his hands and put them on Lee's waist. Lee felt their familiar warmth and weight through the fabric of his shirt and smiled, giving Richard's cheek a playful rub with the tip of his nose and watching his eyes narrow as he smiled back. Their faces were so close that they were breathing each other's air, their eyelashes almost catching on each other when they blinked. Without looking down, Lee pulled at one end of the cravat so that it came loose and discarded it. When he reached between their bodies and opened Richard's waistcoat, one button at a time, Richard drew an audible breath. "Lee, what are you-"

“I’m just going to take this off to make things more comfortable, is that okay?” Lee waited for Richard's emphatic nod of assent before pushing the garment from his shoulders and working it down his arms. He then cupped the sides of Richard's neck with his hands and reclaimed his lips, letting out a little hum of approval when they parted to his tongue once more. As the kiss unhurriedly evolved into something quite wet and noisy and delicious, Lee let his fingers explore, consciously memorizing every detail - from the roughness of Richard's beard to the pronounced jut of his Adam's apple - and wondering if Richard was doing the same.

Meanwhile Richard's hands had not remained idle either, wandering up from Lee's waist to reach his elbows and then further up, squeezing his biceps and rounding his shoulders to eventually settle on the back of his neck, fingers tracing lazy circles and stroking against the grain of Lee's hair in that particular way that gave him gooseflesh all over. He moaned deliriously into Richard's mouth and Richard matched him whimper for whimper, tugging him closer as though every inch separating them was one too many.

Lee was sure that they could have stretched out the incredible make-out session for a long time, had they not been disturbed by the door opening and a familiar round face poking around it. "Oh Mr. Armitage, my apologies. I knocked but there was no answer, so I assumed you'd already left."

Lee didn't move or even turn his head to look at the security guard, and neither did Richard. "You're interrupting a little moment here, Stephen," he pointed out graciously. "Knock harder next time."

"Right. Of course. Take your time. Again, sorry."

As the door clicked shut behind the embarrassed guard, Richard and Lee dissolved into laughter, but unfortunately the interruption had broken the spell and they regretfully disentangled to allow Richard to get ready for the surprise party that was no longer a surprise.

Still, the kiss has been in Lee's thoughts ever since, even though they haven't really talked about it until now.

"It was a fantastic kiss," he agrees with an almost bashful grin. "I hope you don't mind that I just went for it? There is something so wonderfully illicit about sneaking backstage and kissing the star of the play in his dressing room, I couldn't resist."

"The star of the play is your live-in boyfriend," Richard drily reminds him.

"He sure is, but I don't like to brag." Lee impulsively cups one of Richard's cheeks with his hand and plants a kiss on the other. "I'm proud of you, Rich. I know you are disappointed for not getting those roles you auditioned for, but your next project will come along soon enough and it will be something really amazing, I just feel it."

"Thanks, love. Philippa's been positively inundating me with scripts, but I'm not averse to some time off, actually, so no rush on my part."

Lee noses Richard's jaw, smiling at the tickle and scratch of his facial hair. "Are you going to shave your beard off now that the play is over?"

"I don't know, I haven't really thought about it. I've gotten used to the scruff, but I'm sure I'll get frustrated with it at some point and start shaving again." He draws back slightly, sporting a bashful look Lee has difficulty interpreting. "By the way, that shoulder rub you gave me was really nice. I, uh, would be happy to reciprocate if you want?"

"Oh, yes please." Lee begins to slide off the couch to get settled on the floor, but Richard stops him.

"I was thinking, ummm... we could do this properly, with you lying down. Here, or on the bed. If you feel comfortable doing that."

Richard seems shy about making the suggestion and Lee knows exactly why, so he gives him a reassuring smile and takes Richard's hands as he stands up, pulling him to his feet and in the direction of the bedroom. "Bed it is."

Richard waits for Lee to get settled on his stomach, arms comfortably curled around the pillow beneath his head, before sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed. "Can I begin? Just your shoulders first, okay? And I won't go near your neck."

Lee hums approval and closes his eyes as Richard's hands appear on his shoulders and squeeze experimentally. "Is this okay?" Richard asks after just a few short moments, voice tinged with tension. "Communicate with me, Lee."

"Yeah, it feels good," Lee replies. "Shouldn't I take my shirt off, though?"

"Only if you want to."

"I think I do." While Lee shimmies out of his shirt, Richard goes through the drawers of the bedside cabinet and comes up with a small bottle with an oily content, an impulse buy they'd brought home from one of their spending sprees at the sex shop more than a month ago. Richard warms a small amount between his hands and then proceeds to rub it into the skin of Lee's shoulders with slow and steady movements.

Relaxation settles in almost immediately, and Lee soon feels his body growing heavy under Richard's ministrations, sinking into the mattress. "More, please," he mutters, smiling in contentment when he feels Richard's fingers responding, gaining in confidence and broadening their sweeps to include more and more of Lee's back. "Yes, god, that's nice. Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping," Richard promises. He is turned sideways on the edge of the bed, feet still on the floor and his upper body twisted around in what can't be a very comfortable position.

"You can sit on me if you want to," Lee suggests. "It will be much easier."

"Lee, I'm not sure if--" Richard trails off, his hands momentarily faltering. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

Lee opens his eyes and twists around slightly to get Richard in his line of sight. "Look at me, Rich. Tell me what you're afraid of."

"Bad memories," Richard says after a moment's hesitation. "I don't want you to feel trapped again, and our hard work with Fran to be undone because of one bad decision."

"It won't be," Lee says gently. "It's just a massage, Rich. We have to face the monster at some point, or it will only grow stronger. It will be okay, I promise."

Richard worries his bottom lip between his teeth, considering for a moment before slowly shifting around to kneel on the bed and straddle Lee's hips. Lee gives him an encouraging smile over his shoulder and reaches back to hand him the bottle of massage oil. "Now keep working that magic, baby. Nice and easy does it.”

It takes several minutes of almost constant verbal reassurance from Lee, but Richard gradually seems to relax and become more comfortable, patiently working the muscles of Lee’s shoulders and back and smoothing out even the most stubborn kinks. It feels incredible, and Lee has no trouble giving himself over completely. Soon he is a boneless mess on the bed, trying his best to hold in the moans and other blissful noises that threaten to spill from his lips ever more abundantly.

“Your arms, too?” Richard suggests, and Lee readily unfolds them from beneath the pillow to stretch them alongside his body, sighing when Richard’s newly slicked fingers dig into his upper arms. “Oh my god, Rich, that feels so good.”

Richard is nothing if not thorough. He gives each of Lee’s arms the full treatment, tracing long lines all the way from his shoulders to his wrists and paying particular attention to his biceps. Lee smiles groggily into the pillow, thinking secretly to himself that while this may not be quite as good as sex, it comes pretty damn close.

“My neck, too,” he hears himself saying sluggishly. “Please, babe?”

Richard hesitantly does as he asks and rubs the back of Lee’s neck with his thumb, lightly at first and then slightly more firmly. When Richard cautiously introduces the thumb of his other hand as well, the moan that has long been building inside Lee slips out unbidden, and Richard jerks his hands away as if he’s burned himself. “Shit, sorry,” he says anxiously, clearly having misunderstood the response. “Are you okay?”

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lee insists. "That was a sound of enjoyment, Richard. If I want you to stop, I'll tell you to stop."

Richard exhales and, after a moment of silence, actually starts chuckling with embarrassment. "God, I'm sorry," he mutters. "I'm making quite the fool of myself here, aren't I?"

At the sound of Richard's laughter, Lee feels the tension in the pit of his stomach instantly dissipating and joins in as well. It reminds him of what Fran said about using laughter as a therapeutic tool and proves that she was right; it makes a vast and positive difference.

Richard continues to rub the back of Lee's neck for another minute before moving on again, now focusing his attention on the top of Lee's spine and his shoulder blades, and for a while the only sounds that can be heard are Lee's sighs and the quiet, slick sounds Richard's fingers make as they knead Lee's well-oiled skin. Lee is quickly slipping back into some sort of trance-like state, so close to actually drifting off that he almost doesn't catch Richard's next words.

"Your body looks so incredibly sexy like this, Lee," Richard muses aloud, his fingers tracing delicious patterns from Lee's left shoulder to the right. "I can’t stop thinking about getting one of these myself."

Lee whimpers into the pillow, resisting the idea that the best massage of his life might be over soon. "You'll get your turn," he promises. "Just a few more minutes, okay?"

A beat of confused silence. "What are you talking about? I meant a tattoo, Lee, not a massage. Although I wouldn't say no to that either."

"What?" Lee drags his eyes open, needing a moment to let the meaning of those words sink in. "Richard, a tattoo? Are you joking?"

"I'm utterly serious."

"But how... why..." Lee starts to wriggle between Richard's legs, trying to twist around and make eye contact. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

"A while, but seeing those drawings you did of me probably clinched it. I haven't been able to get the idea out of my head ever since."

"But... but... I thought you didn't care for tattoos," Lee sputters. He has managed to turn around by now, staring up at Richard who is grinning.

"That may have been true a year ago, but they've kind of grown on me lately, in case you hadn't noticed."

Lee flushes and swallows as Richard's finger touches the spot on his collarbone where the tiny tattoo in his honor is located. The thought of Richard getting a tattoo is one he's secretly pondered more than once, but the probability of it actually coming to pass had seemed quite low until now.

"But wouldn't that harm your chances of getting the roles you want? What if you have to do a nude scene?"

"Stage make-up should take care of that," Richard says with a shrug. "It's not a concern to me. And it won't be anywhere near as big or as prominent as your phoenix, for example, so it would be pretty easy to hide or cover up."

"How big, then?" Lee demands. "And where? What kind of design?"

"So many questions," Richard teases. "I have a few ideas that I'm currently considering, but I think I'll keep them to myself until I've made up my mind."

Lee could not disagree with this decision more. He sits up, pouting, and tangles his fingers into Richard's hair. "Come on, Rich," he cajoles, "you can't just drop a bombshell like that and then expect me to let it go. Give me a hint, at least."

"You want a hint?" Richard smiles, clearly enjoying the moment. "Do you remember what you told me in the bar, after the premiere?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that, babe. I rambled like a fool in love that night."

"You told me you have a specialty," Richard jogs his memory, "a certain type of tattoo you get a lot of requests for."

Lee blinks in surprise. "Birds? You're thinking of getting a bird tattoo? But you told me you haven't liked birds since a seagull ate your ice cream when you were four."

"That's true, I don't particularly care for seagulls - squawking, greedy buggers - but I have no beef with any of the other types. In fact, much like tattoos, they've grown on me. But that's all I'm going to tell you for now. My birthday is in six weeks, so there is plenty of time."

"To do what?" Lee frowns, confused by the non sequitur about Richard's birthday.

"To hash out the details. This old git's turning forty next month, so I figured that would be the perfect opportunity to get it done. Embrace the midlife crisis, right? Could you do it here, though, with your own machine? I would prefer that to coming down to the shop. I like your friends, but the more privacy I can get, the better."

"Uh," Lee responds inarticulately, feeling slightly dizzy. For some reason, the thought that _he_ would be the one to put the tattoo on Richard hasn't really sunk in until now.

And god - he would be lying if he denied this - it turns him on. It turns him on way more than he feels comfortable admitting.

"Sure," he finally manages to reply. "That can be arranged."

"Good." Looking pleased, Richard takes the bottle of massage oil and teasingly waves it in front of Lee's face. "So... you said something about a massage?"


	28. Woodpecker

As summer heats up, reducing the city that never sleeps to an indolent, slumbering beast, Lee and Richard wholeheartedly embrace their second chance at a prolonged courtship by engaging in what can only be described as some very vigorous dating. Not a single restaurant, coffee shop, movie theatre or playhouse is safe as they seize every opportunity to go out, revisiting some of their old favorite haunts and discovering quite a few new ones along the way. They receive and accept a dinner invitation from the McTavishes and afterwards head down to Jimmy Nesbitt’s pub for a nightcap, which they end up not having to pay for because the congenial Irishman is one of Lee’s oldest clients and blithely ignores their protests when he insists on picking up the tab himself.

But it isn't all fun and games. They faithfully attend their sessions with Fran to discuss the progress they’ve made and snags they’ve hit, while Richard bravely continues to grapple his way through Lee's journals with a fine-toothed comb. The way he's taken it upon himself to sift through all the excruciating details of Lee's trauma is reminiscent of the dedication he puts into preparing for his roles; he wants to understand it, take it apart and study it from the inside out, just as he does with the characters he plays.

And every day they talk, talk, talk.

On some days it is a struggle. Sometimes there is squabbling or crying or both. But whenever they get frustrated with the process, Fran is there to turn the lights back on and remind them that they are making an investment, and investments rarely yield an immediate return. Step by step, they are relaying the foundations of trust, drawing the floor plan of their future.

Lee likes the sound of that - a future with Richard - a whole lot. Since they started therapy the focus of their conversations has subtly and gradually begun to shift to where they find themselves talking less and less about the hurt and heartache of the past and more and more about the things they envision themselves doing in the future, travels they'd like to make, dreams they hope to fulfill. Richard can talk for hours about the plays and roles he hopes to be cast in one day, and Lee is more than happy to let him and listen, but when Richard turns the question around on him and asks what _he_ hopes to accomplish in the next ten, twenty or thirty years, Lee finds himself utterly stumped.

“God,” he says, embarrassed to discover just how little he’s thought about this until now, “is it sad that I can’t answer that question? Tattooing is all I know. I’m not so sure I can see myself doing anything else.”

“Not sad at all, Lee. You love what you do, don’t you? Being a tattoo artist allows you to use your creativity and you are bloody good at it. Most people would love to be able to say that about their jobs.”

"Maybe, but still. Shouldn't I have some kind of dream or vision? Shouldn't all people have something to strive towards? And yet I'm coming up empty."

"That only means you haven't figured out what it is yet. Don't worry, Lee, it will come to you. Have you ever considered getting back into acting in some shape or form?"

"I... I don't know, Rich," Lee replies waveringly. "It's been a long time since I let those thoughts in. After the Juilliard bubble burst, I spent years trying to forget how much I love the stage. Until, of course, divine providence sent a freaking Broadway actor into my tattoo shop." He smiles. "I mean, what are the odds?"

Richard gives him a smile back. "Think about it," is all he says. "If being on stage still makes you happy, there are definitely options for you to consider."

Lee files the idea away for the time being-- but even that tentative first thought of a possible return to the stage sparks something inside him, a yearning that tells him just how brightly that old flame is still burning deep inside.

Something else they spend a lot of time talking about, in private as well as in therapy, is sex. Over time Richard has become more comfortable discussing the issue, a positive change that has certainly made life - and Fran's job - a lot easier. In terms of replacing sex with other acts of physical intimacy they have come a long way as well, gradually broadening their scope to include foot and shoulder rubs, luxurious massages, slow dancing in the living room, roughhousing and play fighting and not least languorous make-out sessions on the couch or on the bed, limbs entangled like vines. Those especially they can make last for a long time, lazily petting and kissing until their lips are raw and they are both breathless and lightheaded and in need of a cold shower.

They keep to the vow of abstinence, but it is definitely getting harder to do so. Occasionally, when they are on the bed kissing, they will let the reins of self-control slip through their fingers just a little bit and end up in a compromising situation of both being hard and rocking against each other slightly until one of them remembers and pulls away apologizing. It feels like they are standing on a threshold, but neither wants to be the first to take that next step, afraid that it will prove a mistake and undo everything they've been working for.

And then one day, in therapy, Richard suddenly just blurts it out.

"How do we know when it is time?" he asks Fran, blushing just a tiny bit this time. "I mean... Lee and I have been talking lately about reintroducing certain-- uhmm, things to the repertoire, and in many ways it does feel like it would be a natural progression at this stage, but how can we know for sure? And if we do decide to, uh, diversify, how do we go about it? Is it something that should be planned and talked through beforehand? Or would it be better to have it happen spontaneously?"

"It is always good to talk," Fran says. "I think I have made it sufficiently clear that I'm a big fan of communication. Scheduled sex, however, is not something I would recommend to anyone. It brings a sense of obligation with it that is completely unromantic and just plain counterproductive. In my experience, it rarely leads to anything good. By all means, take time to voice your desires and expectations for if and when it happens, make sure you've got some rules in place, and then continue going about your lives. There will come a moment when the timing and the circumstances are right and you're both relaxed and in the mood; the trick is to recognize that moment when it occurs and to not force it. I know spontaneity must seem like a scary thing to you right now, but I will tell you this-- a healthy sex life can't do without it."

As usual, they discuss the session during their stroll in the park afterwards - the ice creams have become a part of the routine as well, despite Richard's worried observation that he's put on three pounds since they started therapy - and then they follow Fran's advice and duly put the matter out of their minds. It is not hard to do as the next few days are quite hectic; Lee picks up a few extra shifts at the shop to make up for his absences over the last couple of months, Richard is having more and more trouble fending off Philippa, who is starting to make noises about it being time to put himself out there once more, and most surprisingly of all there's an unexpected text message from Luke one evening.

_Found some leftover stuff of yours. Could bring it by tonight - where are you?_

Baffled that Luke would even offer that much, Lee briefly considers having him make the drop-off at the shop, but curiosity eventually wins out and after squaring it with Richard he texts Luke their address.

Less than an hour later, Luke shows up with a shoebox of various bits and bobs, some of which Lee doesn't even recognize as belonging to him, but he takes it. "Thanks, Luke. Appreciate it."

"So, uh..." Luke awkwardly stuffs his hands down the pockets of his jeans, feet planted wide. He is, still, devastatingly handsome, but Lee is relieved to note that the half-expected flutter of a residual attraction does not occur. "This is where you live now? I didn't know you had moved, and to Chelsea of all places. You always said you would live and die an East Village boy."

"People change their minds all the time. And I didn't feel I owed you a change of address card after you dumped my ass in a voicemail message."

"Yeah, okay. Fair point." Luke seems to be trying to sneak a glance over Lee's shoulder, which must be difficult as Lee's body tends to fill up the average doorframe. He is dawdling, clearly curious, and Lee finds that intensely gratifying. In some small, undeniably petty way, he wants Luke to know that he's been doing quite well without him. "So... do you live alone here, or..."

Lee feels rather than hears Richard coming up behind him and moves to the side to make some space, savoring the look of wide-eyed bewilderment that appears on Luke's face when Richard steps into view. Damn it, he really shouldn't be feeling this smug but he is.

"No, I live here too," Richard says, courteously sticking his hand out towards Luke. "Hi there, I'm Richard. Luke, is it? Good to meet you, mate. Thanks so much for bringing Lee's stuff by."

"No problem," Luke mutters, looking strangely demure, and suddenly it occurs to Lee that Luke's reasons for sending that text and coming over so promptly may not have been entirely altruistic. He is, come to think of it, wearing an awfully nice shirt for a regular work night.

"Oh my god, Luke," Lee blurts out, too shocked to hold back. "This was a booty call, wasn't it? You actually came here tonight thinking you were getting lucky."

From the look of things, Luke seems to be keeping a watchful eye on Richard whilst calculating his chances at escaping this situation with his dignity - and, perhaps most importantly, his face - left intact. "Of course not," he grunts, but it sounds wholly unconvincing.

Richard tactfully takes the shoebox of stuff from Lee's hands. "Dinner reservations in thirty minutes," he reminds Lee before heading back inside and leaving him to deal with Luke privately.

"I don't know what the hell you were thinking, Luke," Lee says below his breath, just in case any of their neighbors might feel tempted to listen in. "Even if I wasn't in a relationship, you can't actually have been so clueless as to think that I'd be down for a fuck after you treated me like a piece of dog shit? Anyone with an ounce of self-respect would know better than that. And I'm not just talking about the voicemail breakup, by the way, but the shit talking on Facebook as well. I do wish you all the best, Luke, but I'm going to close this door in a second and you can take that as your clue to get the hell out of my life. If you happen to find any more of my belongings, you can package them up and have them sent to this address. Thanks."

Adrenaline doesn't kick in until after Lee has shut the door in Luke's stunned face, and he turns around, suddenly weak-kneed and shaking a bit. "I can't believe I said that," he says, meeting Richard's gaze incredulously.

Richard just smiles. "And did it feel good?"

Lee slowly nods, feeling a smile starting to lift up the corners of his mouth. "Yeah," he admits. "As a matter of fact, it felt so fucking great that I wish I had done it a lot sooner."

***

When Lee comes home from the shop the next Friday, Richard is waiting for him at the door with a peculiar look on his face. "I've got bad news and good news," he says without preamble, giving Lee a reassuring 'welcome home' kiss. "But the bad news is only slightly bad and the good news is very very good."

"Okay," Lee says slowly, feeling slightly worried all the same. "Break it to me, then, bad news first."

"I have to leave for a few hours." Lee's face falls slightly; they'd been tentatively planning to go see an early movie and grab a bite afterwards. "Philippa called and wrangled me into making those dinner reservations we've been talking about for a while. I think she wants to tackle the dreaded issue of 'What's Next For Richard' and I didn't get the feeling that she was going to take no for an answer. I'm really sorry."

Lee swallows his disappointment and smiles. "That's okay, Rich. Were you able to get a table at Alfredo's on such short notice?"

Richard nods. "They could squeeze us in at six thirty. So I shouldn't be home too late. And I did groceries and stocked the fridge, so you won't have to go hungry."

"Right, thanks. Is that actually the good news, or is there more?"

"Ah yes, there is." Richard gives Lee a conspiratorial smile. "But I want to show you rather than tell you, so... close your eyes?"

Lee dutifully does as he is asked, feeling his stomach lurch with anticipation when Richard moves to stand behind him, puts his hands on his shoulders and turns him around, steering him in the direction of the kitchen. "No peeking," Richard murmurs into his ear, and Lee smiles and squeezes his eyes even more tightly shut to fight the temptation of doing exactly that.

"Did you finally get us a puppy?" he asks in a singsong-y voice, happily continuing the trend of teasing Richard with that at every opportunity, and sure enough, he gets the traditional response of Richard clacking his tongue reproachfully.

"I wouldn't go to the pound and pick up a dog without you, Lee. If I did, I'm sure it would be me sleeping in the dog house instead of the dog." They stop, and Richard takes his hands off of Lee's shoulders. "You can look now."

The moment Lee opens his eyes, there can't be a shred of confusion as to what the surprise is-- it is sitting on the kitchen counter right in front of him. A semi-automatic, shiny, Italian-import coffee machine, the exact kind he'd been eyeing for weeks but written off as being out of their price range.

"What the fuck?" he blurts out, wheeling around on Richard who is standing there with an expectant little smile. "Richard, how... why... are you fucking crazy?" he splutters. "Wait, no, first things first. How the hell did you know I've been salivating over this machine since it became available in the US?"

"You have a habit of not clearing your browser history," Richard replies. "And before you say it is too expensive--"

"It _is_ too expensive, Richard. What in god's name did you do, sell a kidney on the black market?" Lee can't resist sliding a finger across the cool, spotless metal.

Richard smiles imperturbably. "Well, if that is how you feel, I guess I'll return it to the store first thing tomorrow."

Lee groans in defeat. "You have to let me pay half. That was the deal we made when I moved in."

"It's a present, Lee. If you check the house rules, you'll find that you're exempt from chipping in on gifts."

"Have you lost your fucking marbles? This is way too extravagant for a gift. And besides, it's not even my birthday."

They squabble back and forth for a while, but Richard stands firm on the issue. In the end the only reasonable thing left to do is for Lee to grab Richard's face between his hands and give him a kiss that leaves him swaying on his feet. "You're a fucking idiot and I love you," he says with an exasperated sigh.

"I expect to see a return on my investment, though," Richard says, "in the shape of a perfect cup of coffee tomorrow morning. And that machine comes with an instruction manual the size of a brick so... you have some homework to do tonight."

After Richard has left to meet with Philippa, Lee spends some time acquainting himself with their new toy, admiring it from every possible angle and fiddling with the dials. For dinner he whips up an old favorite, spaghetti _all'amatriciana_ , and he sits down at the kitchen table with his plate and the instruction manual in front of him.

It manages to hold his attention for about two minutes before his mind starts to become increasingly occupied with the idea that in terms of quality time for him and Richard, the evening might not be entirely lost after all.

Although the bathroom is fitted out with a bathtub and separate shower, Lee has become accustomed to the fact that the bath never gets used for its intended purpose because Richard insists that it takes forever to fill up, that the drain is clogged and that he is more a five minute shower man anyway (not that you would have guessed it from the long showers they have a habit of taking together).

Lee suspects that the main reason, although left unsaid, is that Richard thinks baths are wasteful. But a man who spends a small fortune on a coffee machine doesn't get to be stingy about a few dollars' worth of warm water, so after dinner Lee heads into the bathroom armed with a plunger and an armful of cleaning products.

The timing couldn't have worked out any better. By the time Lee finally hears the familiar sound of a key sliding into the front door lock, shortly before nine, he's settled in the tub comfortably (although his knees are sticking out of the foamy water as usual-- he has yet to find a tub big enough for him to stretch his legs in). "I'm in the bathroom," he calls out by way of welcome, and a few moments later Richard walks in, surveying the scene before him with a look of surprise.

"Hi, honey," Lee says in an affected tone, leaning back and letting his fingertips graze the surface of the water. "How was dinner? You look tired."

"It was, ah, fine I guess." Richard's eyes seem distracted, tracing the lines of Lee's chest and shoulders, illuminated only by flickering candlelight. "Lee, I don't want to ask the obvious question here, but what are you doing? I told you, the drain--"

"I unclogged it," Lee says. "And what I am doing is starting a new tradition, or so I hope."

"And the candles?"

"Ambiance. Do you like it?" Richard nods vaguely, his eyes still very much glued to the planes of Lee's torso. "Do you want to get in? I left you a seat." Lee indicates the space between his legs, and at this, Richard's gaze finally flicks to Lee's face.

"Uh..."

"Come on in," Lee encourages and he laughs, breaking the tension. "The water's lovely."

Richard still looks hesitant as he goes for his cufflinks and works his way down the row of buttons at the front of his shirt, but by the time he shrugs it off his movements pick up speed and he strips efficiently, stepping out of his boxer briefs and facing away from Lee as he slowly eases himself into the water and Lee's embrace. "Is this okay?"

"It's perfect."

It really is, and they settle into a pleasant silence. Richard volunteers no details about his dinner with Philippa and Lee doesn't ask him to, happy to wait for a more opportune moment to have that conversation. For now, the wordless physical connection is enough.

After some time of lazing in the warm water like this, surrounded by candles and with music playing softly in the background and Richard nestled snugly between his thighs, Lee starts feeling the need to move his hands, so he does. Content at first just to leisurely rub Richard's shoulders, they soon branch out to his biceps, fingers separating to rake white lines across skin that is ruddy from the hot water. A little sigh escapes Richard's slightly parted lips, offering Lee all the encouragement he needs to continue.

He props his chin on Richard's shoulder and watches his hands mapping that beautiful, well-shaped chest, mostly bare with just the right amount of hair growing in the center. Richard is watching as well, eyes tracking Lee's fingers as they measure the span of his collar bones, wander down his sternum and spread out, stopping just shy of where the water is gently lapping at Richard's nipples. There is a tiny hitch in Richard's breath, barely audible, but Lee notices and can't resist turning his head and kissing the tender pulse point in Richard's temple, just below the hairline.

_You're fucking gorgeous._

He keeps going, solicitously tracing the muscles in Richard's arms and chest and shoulders until he's memorized them all, before burying his fingers in Richard's hair and gently combing against the grain. This _always_ gets a good response, and Lee can't suppress a gratified smile when a tremor strong enough to stir the water runs through Richard's limbs.

He'd half-heartedly planned to stop here, but he realizes he doesn't want to, so he lets his hands return to Richard's chest, splaying his fingers wide as he rakes them up and down. Richard's breathing deepens and he shifts slightly in the water, arching his spine and biting his bottom lip when one of Lee's blunt fingernails grazes a nipple. His head lolls slowly back as if in supplication, a wordless request for more, and Lee gives it gladly, fingers teasing skin just above the waterline before dipping below it.

He keeps his movements slow, afraid that going too fast or taking too much will disturb the dreamlike quality of what they are doing. He wants to savor these moments and commit them to memory for later-- the _drip-drip-drip_ of the leaking tap, the audible breaths and sighs that Richard gives as he positively melts into Lee's arms and the feeling of being at the very center of their own private universe-- just this bathroom, the water and them.

Touching Richard like this is intoxicating. Lee loses all track of time, the only indication of its unstoppable march the slowly cooling water. If it was slightly on the hot side before, now it is just pleasantly warm, and Lee reaches further down, sliding the flats of his hands down the front of Richard's torso, which earns him the first soft moan. Richard quickly inhales as if to rein the sound back in - to no avail, of course - but Lee just smiles and repeats the movement in the other direction, dragging his hands back up only to slip his arms under Richard's armpits so as to shift his attentions to the part of him that is underwater.

His hands quickly find their way down again, coming at Richard's waist from the sides and then sliding to the front to idly caress the trim abdomen and soft belly. He does not venture lower than that, not sure if he should, not sure if such a deviation from their list will be welcomed. He reminds himself that it doesn't have to progress beyond this-- there is already enjoyment in this for both of them. Every other breath that escapes Richard's lips comes out as a little gasp now, and Lee can hear the work of his throat as he swallows and moistens his lips and then swallows again. "Please," he whispers in a voice that is dry and cracked like parchment, and he opens his thighs just a tiny fraction. It is the first thing he's said in what seems like forever, and there is a shyness in it that has Lee's heart doing a funny lurch. "Lee, I want... please?"

Heart hammering in his chest, Lee only has to reach a little bit lower before his fingers brush the tip of an unmistakably hard cock, even that tentative first touch eliciting a plaintive whimper from Richard. Lee has to bite his lip to refrain from making a similar noise as he strokes one finger down the curved length of Richard's cock, marveling at how hot and hard it is just from what Lee has been doing these past few minutes.

Well, it's been quite a long time, after all, especially if Richard hasn't been taking care of matters himself, which wouldn't surprise Lee in the slightest. The way Richard responds to even the slightest touches suggests that he is bursting at the seams with pent-up sexual energy. It is an exhilarating thought that kindles warmth near Lee's midriff.

When Lee slowly starts rubbing the flat of his palm up and down the shaft, tip to root and back up again, Richard stops breathing altogether and tenses up between Lee's legs, grabbing the sides of the bathtub with both hands. It isn't until Lee's hand completes its third stroke that the air in Richard's lungs is released in the shape of a deep, resounding groan. Lee coils his free arm around Richard's chest, pulling him closer as he keeps his movements steady and his stroking hand open and flat despite Richard's whimpered protests and the undulations of his hips as he frantically tries to push himself up into Lee's touch.

"Faster," he pants, arching his neck and exposing his throat as he tips his head back in wanton surrender. His white-knuckled fingers are clutching at the rims of the tub as though they are the only thing keeping him from drowning. "Faster, Lee, _please_."

Lee obliges, pressing down slightly harder and speeding up the movements of his hand beneath the water. Another low, long groan is his reward, and the throbbing of Richard's cock intensifies, twitching and surging up against Lee's hand of its own accord. The temptation to fill his hand with it is very real, but Lee delays the moment for as long as he can, pressing closed-mouthed kisses to the side of Richard's neck and then parting his lips to lick a wet stripe along his jaw, savoring the delicious rough rasp of stubble against the tip of his tongue. He bends his head and nips gently at the muscle between Richard's neck and shoulder.

Immediately, Richard tilts his head to the side as if to offer more of himself to Lee's mouth. "Harder," he urges.

While Lee picks a different spot and latches onto it with his mouth, he begins paying particular attention to the head of Richard's cock, zeroing in on the pleasure spot just below it and rubbing it teasingly with his thumb. It starts a shudder in Richard's legs that passes up through his body like a slow ripple, making muscle twitch and jump and emerging at the end of its journey as a rumbling moan. Lee feels its reverberations against his lips and sucks all the harder for it, feeling something darkly possessive unfurl in his belly when he pulls away slightly to survey the blooming bruise he's left. He gives it a soothing swipe of his tongue, gratified by the soft, pleading whine he gets from Richard in response.

When he finally grants mercy and closes his fingers around the firm shaft, Richard surges up into it so abruptly that the movement makes the water slosh.

"Mmm," Lee hums against the shell of his ear as he starts working Richard's cock at a slow but deliberate pace. "Easy."

Richard whimpers and releases the rims of the tub, one of his hands blindly patting along Lee's still arm until he reaches the end and laces their fingers together. With the other hand he reaches up behind him and latches onto Lee's hair, twisting his head around and seeking Lee's mouth with his own. Lee inhales sharply at that first slide of lips, bending closer and opening his mouth to the kiss as he works Richard's cock in long, twisting pulls of his fist. He has sped up the pace without realizing it and settled into a strong, sensual rhythm, not teasing anymore but fully engaged, starved for Richard's responses.

"Oh, darling," Richard breathes against his mouth, breath coming in punctuated puffs and needy gasps, and he tilts his head to lick at Lee's lips as if their taste is all he craves. Lee gives a choked-off moan, so swept up in Richard's pleasure that it might as well be his own.

"Come," he begs, voice sandpaper-rough. "Richard, come."

Richard's eyes are practically black in the candle-lit room, irises almost completely swallowed up by his pupils, and he pushes his lower half up as he braces himself on his feet, starting to thrust up into Lee's fist with urgent rolls of his hips. "Close," he gasps, tangling his fingers into Lee's hair. "Lee, I need-"

Lee speeds up his movements one last time, squeezing harder on the upstroke and swiping his thumb over the head. He is talking without realizing it, broken syllables of encouragement and praise tumbling from his lips as he works Richard's cock the way he knows Richard needs, savoring its weight and firmness in his hand and the flushed look of pure want on Richard's face, mouth open and wet and puffy from biting.

And then Richard suddenly isn't skirting that edge anymore but falling right over it, his head lolling back as his entire body pulls taut and the first thick spurt of come lands on his chest. He barely makes a sound as he comes, teeth gritted with the intensity of it, and Lee strokes him through his climax with a slick fist, pressing his lips to Richard's temple and waiting for Richard's body to go slack and slide back in the water. Only then does he stop and reach for a washcloth to wipe Richard's chest and clean the stickiness from his fingers before tucking Richard in his arms and holding him close once more.

It takes a while, but eventually Richard is the first to speak. "I think we just scored maximum points for spontaneity here."

Lee chuckles and nuzzles into Richard's hair. "Yeah," he mutters blissfully, contentment settling heavy in his bones. "I daresay we did."


	29. Hoopoe

The next Tuesday, when a last-minute cancellation unexpectedly leaves him with some time to kill in between clients, Lee finally bites the bullet and sits down in the office to call O'Gorman and let him know what he's decided.

He is, realistically, prepared for it to be a very short conversation. It's been well over a month since O'Gorman made his pitch and left his card behind, so in all probability he's long since given up on his flirtation with human interest and gone back to stalking celebrities for a quick dime. In fact, Lee is half expecting the call to go through to voicemail and is counting down the rings waiting for it to happen.

However it is the live O'Gorman who picks up mid-ring, and Lee has to concede two seconds into the conversation that he's underestimated the man.

"Lee!" O'Gorman laughs, as if they're the oldest and closest of friends. "You have no idea how stoked I am to hear from you. I was actually starting to wonder if you'd thrown my card out with the trash the minute I walked out the door."

"I almost did."

"Yeah? What made you change your mind?"

Lee answers truthfully. "The thing that stuck with me after you left was the story about your cousin. Tragedies like that are unfolding every day, all over the world, even as we speak. And that had me wondering: if there is anything in my story that can help prevent others from going down the same road I did, if my hard-learned lessons can serve some higher purpose and make a difference for someone other than myself, then what is there to think about?"

"Exactly." O'Gorman's enthusiasm is palpable even over the phone. "You made the right decision, Lee, and I promise you won't regret it. This article is going to make some serious waves; I can't wait for you to hear all my plans for it. Are your coworkers on board too?"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation if they weren't. But just so we're clear, Mr. O'Gorman, all communication about this project will go through me. The owner of the shop will not be involved personally so I will act in his stead."

"Of course." A chuckle. "To be honest, I wasn't expecting anything less. From what I gathered, the owner is hardly ever around and you have taken on most of the day-to-day management."

"That's bullshit. We're a team, we all pitch in."

"Aidan singled you out specifically. He said you have natural leadership skills."

At this, Lee is genuinely perplexed, but he ignores the reporter's obvious goading. "Don't uncork the champagne just yet, though. I have a few terms."

"Yes, I suspected you might."

"First and foremost, I won't answer questions I'm not comfortable with," Lee states. "Pictures are okay, but no last names, locations or other personal details. I want full copy approval for myself and the other interviewees, and a written agreement guaranteeing that these wishes will be respected."

"Sounds reasonable enough. Have something drawn up and ready for me to sign before we sit down for the interview."

"That's it?" Lee knits his brows in bewilderment. "I was prepared to butt heads with you over this."

"Why? I'm a pretty easygoing guy." O'Gorman chuckles again. "I told you, Lee, this article needs to happen. I don't really care what it takes. But I do have a request of my own to make. A personal one."

"What's that?"

"I'd like for you to meet my cousin. The one I told you about. His name's Jack. Would it be okay if I brought him to the interview?"

Lee picks up a pen and thoughtlessly starts to doodle on a piece of paper as he ponders the peculiar and unexpected request. "If you are banking on me getting your cousin on the path to sobriety, Mr. O'Gorman, you're likely to be disappointed. I'm not an interventionist or a therapist, or even a sponsor; I'm just a former addict with a sob story."

"A sob story you just told me you want to publish to help other addicts," O'Gorman reminds him. "Jack is a good kid, not so far gone yet that he won't listen to reason, and I think you might be someone he could look up to. I'm not expecting you to perform any miracles. Just talk to him about how you made it through, what rehab was like and how it helped you, that sort of stuff. It's worth a try, isn't it?"

Lee sighs, sparing a moment to appreciate the somewhat bitter irony of the situation-- O'Gorman asking _him_ for help. "I suppose it is. Fine, I'll talk to the lad and give it my best shot, but I'm not making any promises. It is important to understand that no two addicts are the same. You have to acknowledge that you have a problem, first of all, and be ready to accept the help that's offered, and some reach that stage sooner than others."

"And some don't live long enough to reach that stage at all, I know," O'Gorman says earnestly. "I thank you for trying, no matter what the outcome. Now, regarding the article, I have a confession to make. I've been a bit cheeky while I was waiting for you to get back to me, made a few calls and reminded some people of favors they owed me. So make sure you sit down, because I've got some very exciting news that I think you're going to want to hear."

***

When Lee comes home a few hours later - the back of his shirt soaked with sweat and plastered to his skin - he finds Richard stretched out on the couch and immersed in a script that came in the mail the day before. Richard had reluctantly agreed to reading it as part of his strategy to get Philippa off his back - she had grilled him pretty hard at dinner the week before - but Lee can tell from the look of concentration on Richard's face and his frantic scribbling in the margins that it isn't just about that anymore. Richard is transported into a different world, completely absorbed by the words on the page.

Lee is pleased to see it. Richard needs a new project to get excited about, to flex his acting muscle, and this might just be the one. Lee remembers that exhilarating feeling of reading a play that grabs you by the balls and by the heart and won't let go, and while he is dying to know more about this project, he can be patient and wait for Richard to form his own thoughts on it first.

"Hey." Richard looks up from his reading to give him an affectionate, if slightly distant smile. "I almost didn't hear you come in. Are you okay? You look quite flushed."

"I took the stairs." Lee heads straight into the kitchen, fills a water glass in the sink and empties it in two or three greedy gulps. "God, it's hot out. New York summer at its best. Have you been outside at all?"

"Not since this morning."

Lee slugs down a second helping of water before putting the empty glass on the counter and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, I feel all kinds of disgusting, so I think I'm going to hop straight into the shower."

"Go ahead, so long as you get your stinky arse over here and kiss me first."

Lee laughs and leans over the couch to deliver what was requested. "Sorry, baby. You looked engrossed and I didn't want to cause a distraction. You are very cute when you pout, though."

"I'm not pouting." Richard sticks out his bottom lip even more and reaches out to smack Lee's ass as he darts off laughing. "And you and your cute butt can come and be a distraction any time of the day, as you should know by now."

"Be careful what you wish for." Lee makes sure to put an exaggerated sway in his hips as he peels his T-shirt off of his torso and walks into the bedroom in the full knowledge that Richard is watching him. He can practically feel the burn of those eyes on his back, and it makes him smile. Things between them have definitely been heating up since what happened in the bathtub a few days ago, but since taking it slow is still their number one priority, there have been no repeats so far.

That does not mean, however, that Lee's patience and self-restraint are bottomless. Just thinking about Richard's incredible responses that night - his needy moans and the way he had writhed in Lee's arms and begged for release as he pushed into his fist with complete abandon - is enough to get him hard all over again.

When Richard offered to return the favor at the time, it had seemed right to refuse, but if Lee had known then what he knows now with the wisdom of hindsight - that he was condemning himself to a week of mounting sexual frustration - he might have decided differently.

Thankfully, there isn't a more effective cure for an unwanted erection than a cold shower, and he takes his time to luxuriate in the refreshing cool spray on his shoulders, gratefully letting the water cleanse his skin of the sweat and grime of a New York summer day. When he finally turns off the taps and gets out, he is shivering a bit but feeling wondrously energized and so cheerful that he involuntarily starts to hum as he dries himself off. The sound is amplified by the acoustics of the bathroom, and although Lee has no great singing voice he rather enjoys the effect and cranks the volume up a notch as he stands in front of the mirror stark naked combing his hair with his fingers. The bushiness of his beard reminds him that he's been negligent about shaving lately, and he makes a mental note of it, in the full knowledge that it will slip from his mind the moment he walks out the bathroom. He is blessed to have a boyfriend who doesn't seem to mind the chin rug in the slightest. In fact, quite the opposite is true, if the way Richard likes to rub their cheeks together when they're cuddling is anything to go by.

His pants and sweaty T-shirt are ripe for the hamper, so he slips into his favorite pair of sweatpants before padding out of the bathroom bare-chested, still humming softly and only vaguely aware of the grin he's sporting. It's been quite a while since a mere shower - of the solo variety - put him in such a terrific mood.

"Lee," Richard calls from the living room, and Lee can tell just from that one word that he's a man with a gripe. "We shouldn't have gotten rid of the old drip brewer so quickly."

"Why not?" Lee asks as he walks in and sees Richard standing at the kitchen counter, oozing frustration as he randomly pushes buttons on the new Italian coffee machine.

"Because I knew how to use it, which can't be said about this hellish contraption," Richard sullenly replies. "I haven't had a cup of coffee all day because you weren't here to make me one. I may be English but there is only so much tea one can drink in a day."

"Grouchy," Lee observes teasingly as he comes sauntering over and leans on the counter, cocking his hip out in what isn't an intentionally flirtatious pose but may very well be interpreted as one. "And here I was thinking my caffeine dependency was bad. Did you try consulting the instruction manual?"

"The booklet is as thick as my thumb," Richard sulks. "No cup of coffee, no matter how good, should require that much effort." He throws up his hands with an irritated sigh, glowering at the machine as though it's offended him personally. "I give up. This thing is a bloody menace."

"Don't talk about our baby like that," Lee chides playfully. "You'll hurt its feelings."

"Good. If all else fails, maybe I can scare it into submission."

"No, no. Aggression isn't the answer. Here, I'll show you how this beauty should be treated." Standing perhaps - okay, definitely - a little closer to Richard than strictly necessary, Lee shows him how to navigate the dials and switches and fine-tune the settings to get the exact cup of coffee - or espresso, or ristretto - he wants. Halfway through the instruction, however, he notices that Richard has had a drastic change of mood and is leaning back against him slightly, wearing a glassy-eyed smile that suggests his mind is somewhere else entirely.

"Pay attention, please," he chastises, albeit with a smirk. "I'll be expecting you to do this without supervision next time. Teacher won't always be here."

"Mmm, I can't help it," Richard purrs, turning his head to nuzzle Lee's jaw. "Teacher is a dish. And half naked. And being very, very distracting."

"Quit it," Lee breathes as he tries to angle himself away unnoticeably, determined not to let himself get riled up again. Damn it, he'll be taking cold showers hourly at this rate.

To his credit, Richard suffers through the rest of the lesson without complaint, but he seems more intent on watching Lee's hands than on anything else, and Lee is sure that the intricacies of espresso making are going right over his head.

"You'd make a useless barista," he teases, the words drowned out somewhat by the sound of coffee beans being ground noisily.

"Why do you think I went out and found one to do the job for me?"

Lee can't resist sliding his arms around Richard's waist and kissing the back of his neck, eliciting a sigh as he does. "Thank god you're cute," he murmurs, breathing in the delicious musk of the man's skin, so much better even than the strong, earthy aroma of coffee now slowly filling the kitchen. "And a fair cook. And a more than decent fuck."

At that final remark, Richard harrumphs and twists his head around to scowl at Lee. " _Decent_? Excuse me, but there are more than a few memories seared into my mind that beg to differ with that statement. Like that time I had two fingers and my tongue inside you and you made sure half the neighborhood knew about it. Or that one morning when I sucked you off nice and slow and almost missed an audition because I was so preoccupied with the way you were begging me to let you come." He smiles at the recollection and gives a deliberate, teasing grind of his hips back into Lee's. "I know you remember that as well as I do."

"Please stop," Lee sighs, the words completely negated by the twitch his traitorous cock gives as it starts to harden against Richard's ass. He doesn't have to count on the loose fabric of his sweatpants to disguise it, either; in just a few seconds' time he's already pitched quite an impressive tent in there.

And so Richard, of course, does anything but stop.

"Or," he goes on imperturbably, drawing an involuntary moan from Lee as he continues rubbing himself against his swelling cock, "let's talk about that time when I fucked you for what seemed like hours, and you were desperate to touch yourself but I wouldn't let you, and instead I sucked bruises into your neck and whispered all imaginable filth into your ear until you got there. The way you cried out my name and came apart on my cock that night-- I don't like to brag, but that was hardly the work of a man whose skills are merely 'decent'."

"Oh my god," Lee mutters, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the mental images Richard's words are summoning in crystal clear focus, but it is in vain. He is achingly hard just thinking of the theretofore unknown heights Richard took him to that night. "'More than decent', is what I said, and it was bullshit anyway. You're the best I've ever had and you fucking know it, asshole."

"I am?" Lee doesn't need to see Richard's face to picture the satisfied grin spreading across it.

"Yeah. In terms of sex, that is. Your coffee making skills could use some work. A lot of work, actually." Coiling one of his arms more tightly around Richard's waist while freeing the other, Lee identifies what he knows is the most sensitive spot on Richard's ribcage and gives it a tickle, mostly in an attempt to distract himself from how riled up he's become, to turn the moment into something different, something more playful and less sexually charged.

At first, it is effective. Richard yelps in protest to the fingers digging into his side, and when he tries to squirm away, Lee uses that moment of surprise to pin him against the kitchen counter and hold him in place as he pinches and tickles him, exploiting all the tender spots he can think of. Richard jolts at that, laughing and gasping at the same time, and thrashes in Lee's embrace as he redoubles his efforts to wrench free and gain some control over the situation. All the while, Lee keeps an ear out for their safe word - _give_ \- but since it doesn't come he keeps going, coaxing a few delightful snorts and giggles from Richard before he finally manages to twist around and give as good as he's getting and the tables start to turn.

They are quite evenly matched physically, which hasn't come as a surprise since Lee is only marginally taller and their body shapes are similar enough that they could easily share clothes if they had the same styles (but Richard wouldn't be caught dead in cargo pants, and his button down shirts, however nice they look on him, do not suit Lee at all. There is however one jersey of Lee's that Richard has taken a liking to and which he's worn on a few occasions). So once Richard finds his bearings and goes for Lee's ticklish spots, it really is a tossup as to who has the physical advantage.

Unsurprisingly - because this is how it usually goes - the tickling quickly escalates into a playful scuffle, with both of them trying to gain the upper hand and wrestle the other one to the ground, followed by a brief chase around the kitchen table that ends with a reckless tackle and them in an uncoordinated, writhing tangle of limbs on the living room floor, panting and laughing and gasping for breath. They roll around on the floor grappling, lunging for each other's wrists, and Lee spares a fleeting moment to wonder what the neighbors must be thinking of this ruckus.

Eventually it is Richard who succeeds in pinning Lee down first, his fingers finding purchase around Lee's wrists and pressing him against the floor with their full strength as Lee thrashes and strains against that steely grip. For a few brief moments they gaze at each other with boyish, elated grins, chests heaving with the exertion of their tussle, and Richard's face seems to be looming closer and closer, which has Lee wondering if he's about to get kissed, and he expectantly parts his lips--

And then, suddenly, something shifts. The hold on his wrist slackens and the weight bearing down on his arms disappears, and although Lee instinctively uses the moment to reverse their positions and straddle Richard's torso in turn - he attributes it to the adrenaline that is still pumping through his veins - he knows as he looks down at Richard's beaming face that this win is not deserved.

"Looks like you got me," Richard smiles. His arms above his head are crossed at the wrists, putting up so little resistance that Lee can keep them anchored in a one-handed grip quite easily.

And all of a sudden, it is so very obvious to him what Richard is doing.

"What the fuck, Richard?" he breathes, slowly releasing Richard's arms and sitting back in bewilderment. "You let me win just now, didn't you?"

"Let you win? No," Richard says, blinking steadily up at Lee. "You won fair and square." He almost pulls off the lie, but Lee knows the man better than this by now.

"You let me win," he slowly repeats, working through the realization, "this time, and possibly the other day and the other week as well. You were just a little too obvious about it this time."

Under Lee's questioning gaze, Richard's smile eventually wavers and melts away, his eyes filling with insecurity. "Yeah," he softly confesses, "I let you win."

"Why, baby?"

Lee already knows why - they have been in this place before - but if there is one thing he has learned these past few weeks, it is that the thorn of fear must be pulled out quickly and decisively, before it has a chance to fester.

"I don't want to put you in a position where you feel physically overpowered and restrained," Richard says simply. "I thought it would be easier this way."

"I know." Lee sighs and gently draws the backs of his fingers along Richard's jaw, leaning down to gaze into his eyes. "I get it, baby. But always having to hold back like that is not what I want for you. I want you to be able to touch me and kiss me without fear, even when we're horsing around and you're on top of me pinning me down like you were a minute ago. If that situation was in any way triggering for me, I would have told you, Rich; I know I haven't always guarded my boundaries but I am learning to do that now."

Richard smiles at him affectionately. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." With one simple, fluid movement, Lee rolls over and pulls Richard back on top of him, replicating their previous position. "Be fearless. And try to trust me like I trust you."

"I can do that," Richard promises, although he still seems somewhat uncomfortable with the position and with exerting control like this. But after the first few tentative exchanges of their lips, trading the kind of whisper-soft kisses that Lee will never, ever, _ever_ tire of, Richard relaxes and even gains enough confidence to take Lee's hands, lace their fingers together and slowly pull his arms up above his head as he flicks his tongue against his lips and then into his mouth, to which Lee responds with a soft, whimpering groan. He presses himself up reflexively to seek more contact, more friction, and is rewarded when Richard sighs into his mouth and lowers himself a bit more, the solid press of his chest against Lee's the best feeling in the world.

It doesn't take long for Lee to realize that he is still every bit as hard as before, his swollen cock pressed heavily against his lower belly under the fabric of his sweatpants. There isn't a shower in the world cold enough to quench this want, and he moans helplessly into Richard's mouth, the tail end of the sound morphing into what is almost a sob.

Richard breaks the kiss then and pulls away slightly to consider Lee's face, trying to work out what that sound was. "Lee?" he prompts gently, the inquisitive look in his eyes suggesting that he has absolutely no clue about Lee's current predicament. Apparently he's been too focused on Lee's mouth to notice what is going on downstairs."Should I stop?"

"No," Lee chokes out, "don't stop, just... please, let me... fuck." He shakes his head, unable to comprehend why he finds this so hard to articulate. It's not as if he's usually shy about these things. And yet he stutters and blushes a bit as he finally blurts it out somewhat breathlessly. "Fuck, Rich, I'm so horny."

Richard automatically looks down, dragging his eyes back up once he's taken in the extent of the crisis. "Is that... from earlier?" he asks, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

Lee nods. "Yeah. No. Among another things." His cheeks heat up even more. "It's basically been like this since last Friday. It doesn't take more than a drop of a hat to get me going."

Richard's eyes soften at the confession. "Oh, darling, why didn't you say something sooner? We're supposed to communicate, remember?"

_Darling._

Just like the first time - Richard had introduced the brand new term of endearment in the bath a few days earlier, when he was completely unguarded and probably didn't even realize that he was saying it - Lee feels his heart filling with delirious joy and has to close his eyes for a brief moment to revel in the feeling, wondering when a simple word last affected him this profoundly.

"Lee?"

At hearing Richard's concerned tone, Lee opens his eyes again and gives him a smile infused with all the warmth he feels inside. "I really love that word you just called me."

Richard flushes slightly and gives a bashful smile back. "You do?"

"Yeah. It makes me feel all tingly inside."

Richard's fingers tighten on Lee's and he lowers himself to kiss him gently and unhurriedly for a long, lazy minute. Then he draws back slightly to meet Lee's eyes with a look of infinite tenderness. "Is there anything you want?" he asks, joining the tips of their noses for an eskimo kiss.

Lee's answer is soft but sure. "I want to come from your hand. Just your hand."

Lee is more than happy for it to go down right there on the floor, but Richard insists on Lee's comfort and so they end up on the couch, Lee stretched out along its length - not before he's shucked off his sweatpants, though - and parting his legs for Richard to kneel between with the bottle of lube he's quickly fetched from the bedroom.

"Damn, baby," Richard mutters as he unscrews the cap and takes in the hard curve of Lee's cock where it lies flat against his belly, flushed angry-red. "You've really got it bad."

Mercifully, Richard knows better than to torment Lee with unnecessary foreplay, and Lee almost weeps with relief when cool, slick fingers wrap securely around his heated flesh. His own curl into the pillows under his head as he arches off the couch and into that firm grip. "Oh god, baby, yes."

Richard soon settles into a steady cadence, working Lee's cock with long pulls that are smooth and confident and end in a delicious twist at the tip that drag a gasping moan from Lee's throat every time. Lee tries lifting up his head to watch the magic happen, to see the shiny head of his cock slipping through Richard's fist, but he only manages it for a couple of strokes before he has to tear his eyes away from the sight to keep from coming then and there. He wants it more than anything, but there is no need to embarrass himself.

From where he is kneeling between Lee's thighs in an upright position, Richard is watching, too-- watching Lee's responses, the sharp arch of his back and neck, the flush of arousal and shine of sweat Lee can already feel breaking out on his chest as he squirms on the couch. He grows frustrated with the slowness of Richard's movements, trying to force a faster pace with desperate, wanton thrusts of his hips.

"Easy, easy," Richard murmurs, petting Lee's thigh soothingly. "I know what you want. Let me get you there."

"Just don't tease," Lee begs, letting his hips fall back and making a strenuous effort to keep them still.

"I won't, promise. I just want to make you feel good."

To make good on his pledge, he slowly speeds up the insistent twisting and pulling motions of his wrist, bracing some of his weight on his free hand as he leans over Lee and trails his eyes up and down his body. "God, Lee," he breathes, choking a bit on the words. "You're so fucking gorgeous that it hurts. I love watching you slowly come apart like this."

Lee whimpers and wraps his fingers around the back of Richard's neck to pull him closer for a kiss. It is sloppy and wet and with lots of teeth - both accidental and deliberate - and Lee cries out when Richard's fingers squeeze around him harder, pump him faster. "Oh fuck yeah, like that," he pants into Richard's mouth, "just like that, Rich, _please_."

Richard complies, eyes on Lee's crumpling face as he works the full length of his cock with those perfect, wrenching pulls, bringing him right to the edge and then leaving him skirting it, flirting with it. Lee can feel his body pulling in on itself, gathering for the end. It is right there at his fingertips, but he can't find purchase and all his reaching won't bring it any closer.

"Please, more," he babbles inarticulately, fingers of one hand tangled into Richard's hair while the others clutch at his arm. "Need more, more."

Richard leans down, and a moment later Lee feels facial hair scratching his skin as Richard rubs his face against the constellation tattoo on his shoulder, tracing the lines with his mouth and kissing each of the dots until he gets to the one that was added only weeks ago. He zeroes in on it, pressing his lips to the little mark and swirling his tongue around it before finally sinking his teeth in. It was already a favorite spot of his before Lee had the ink done and his fascination with it has only grown since then.

"Mark me," Lee urges. He is so close that he can taste it, and when Richard latches on and _sucks_ , moaning into Lee's skin as he does, the sharp sting of it combined with the unrelenting, slick-slippery pulls of his fist and the clever swipes of his thumb finally push Lee over. He arches up with a hiss as he feels the pressure in his balls reach breaking point. "Oh god, Richard, I'm right there- right there- _fuck!"_

Light bursts behind his eyelids as the heat escapes him in powerful rushes, and through the haze of orgasm Lee can feel, distantly, the sting of Richard's teeth and the exquisitely tight squeeze of his fingers as he strokes Lee through the intensity of his climax, drawing it out for what feels like longer than Lee had thought himself physically capable of. But eventually it is done, Lee dropping back onto the couch limp and gasping and covered in opalescent white splatters of come that adorn his chest and stomach like a messy string of pearls. As he recovers and tries to catch his breath, Richard diligently wipes them up with some tissues he's also thought to bring.

"Goddamn, I needed that," Lee sighs when they are comfortably curled together on the couch a few minutes later, feeling not a smidge of regret for the cups of coffee they had been in the process of making earlier. "Thank you, babe."

A low chuckle from Richard. "Always happy to be of help."

Lee smiles, watching his fingers card lazily through Richard's hair for a while and enjoying the quiet domesticity of the moment.

"Oh," he says eventually, almost as an afterthought. "I called O'Gorman today to discuss the article."

"Good." From the way Richard is slightly slurring his words, he seems to be dangerously close to dozing off, but what Lee is about to tell him should wake him right up. "How'd it go?"

"Okay, I guess. He is still keen, and I gotta say, the guy is better connected than I thought."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that this story won't run in any old rag." Lee clears his throat and casually delivers the punch line he devised on the way home. "When was the last time you picked up an issue of _People_?"


	30. Wren

Lee has never had this problem before. He does not spend a lot of time in front of the mirror except to shave and finger comb his hair, nor is he particularly vain about the clothes he wears, usually happy to grab whatever happens to be on top of the pile regardless of whether it matches with anything else, but today marks the occurrence of an unprecedented event - over the course of the last twenty minutes he has gone through his entire supply of T-shirts and tried on most of them and yet nothing seems quite right for the day he has ahead of him. Standing indecisively at the foot of the bed and staring at the mess he's made on top of it (in his frenzy, he's practically emptied out his side of the wardrobe completely, although there are at least a few of Richard's T-shirts in the pile as well) he longs, just for a moment, to crawl back into bed and hide under the clutter until the day has passed.

It isn't until Richard walks into the room, asking how he's getting on, that Lee realizes he must have been standing here idling in his underwear for quite some time. Richard is only slightly more dressed than he is - just a pair of briefs and a shirt that is still open at the front and at the cuffs - yet somehow the bastard manages to look so much more put together than he objectively should.

But Richard isn't the one going in front of the camera today. He isn't the one whose face and work and _life_ are going to be immortalized and displayed in the glossy pages of _People_ for god knows how many strangers to see and judge. Lee takes a deep breath to calm the nervous flutter in his stomach, wondering if he's about to be sick. Maybe that would be preferable - a sign from up on high to call the whole thing off while he still can.

"Good lord," Richard deadpans as he takes in the chaos on what was a smoothly made bed an hour ago. "I must have completely missed the tornado that passed through here."

"Sorry." Lee runs an embarrassed hand through his hair, exhaling slowly - the wave of nausea is ebbing away already and he isn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. "I promise I'll clean up the mess as soon as I pull my shit together."

Richard steps closer, and a mere moment later Lee feels the solid, reassuring press of his body as two arms wrap around his waist and pull him snug against a broad chest, offering the simple comfort of a hug. Its effect is instantaneous, and he instinctively leans back into the embrace as his eyes drop closed. "God, that feels nice."

"You know you don't have to go through with this, right?" Richard's lips brush Lee's neck ever so softly, breathing the words into his skin. "It's not too late to pull the plug if you're having second thoughts. No one would think any less of you, least of all me."

"I know." Lee smiles - he should have known that Richard would read his state of mind at a glance. "And I would be lying if I said a small part of me isn't in panic mode right now, but I really want to see this through, Rich. It is the right thing to do - I _know_ it is - and I'm committed to it. I'm just having a bit of a freakout over what to wear," he admits with a self-deprecating little laugh.

"Hmm, that much I can see." The amusement in Richard's voice is impossible to miss. "Much as it pains me to point out, though, we have to leave in about ten minutes. So... can I help?"

Groaning, Lee takes Richard's arms and pulls them around himself a little tighter. "Can't I just wear you to work today?" he suggests mischievously, twisting his head around to make eye contact with Richard over his shoulder. "Or preferably every day, for the rest of my life? Just think of all the time we'd save in the mornings."

Richard shakes his head in what has to pass for disapproval. "You're stalling, Pace."

Lee just smiles and tilts up his chin in playful defiance. "So?"

Richard responds by kissing him softly, but not so softly that Lee doesn't feel encouraged to press into the kiss, lifting one hand to cup the back of Richard's head and guide him closer. Richard sighs at the increased contact and allows the kiss to evolve, their mouths making soft, wet noises as they move together in that exquisite cadence that feels as natural as the ebb and flow of the tide, even at this slightly awkward angle. When Richard hesitantly introduces his tongue into the proceedings, Lee responds by twisting his torso around more, humming encouragingly at the first warm, wet nudge of Richard's tongue against his own, which, god, always feels so fucking good.

For Richard, apparently, it isn't enough. "Come," he urges after a moment or two, lowering his hands to Lee's waist and exerting a light pressure, "come here."

Lee complies, turning around fully and smiling cheekily as he curls his arms around Richard's neck and they get back into it, chest to chest now and close enough that Lee can feel, through the double layer of their underwear, Richard's cock stirring in response to the intimate kiss. Lee isn't unaffected himself - as emotionally satisfying as the massages and the cuddles and the talks and tickle sessions are, physically the pressure continues to mount as time goes by, and Lee is fairly sure that a hand job, even a stellar one like last week's, will not do the trick anymore.

They eventually practise restraint and separate, gazing at each other with slightly unfocused eyes and dazed smiles. "We really have to get going," Richard repeats with obvious regret. He seems to be saying it to convince himself as much as Lee, who just nods and has considerable difficulty tearing his eyes away from Richard's mouth, while Richard appears to be having the same problem vice versa.

They reluctantly turn their attention back to the matter of Lee's outfit and after a brief deliberation, Richard suggests - undoubtedly for sentimental reasons - the T-shirt Lee wore on the evening of the _Vincent_ premiere. Coincidentally, it is one of Lee's favorites as well; purchased at a Foo Fighters concert the year before, it has the band logo and the words _There Is_ _Nothing Left To Lose_ in bold letters emblazoned across the front. The concert was one of the last things he and Luke did and enjoyed together as a couple after Lee's relapse and second stint in rehab, when both still held out hope that their relationship might yet be salvageable. Luke secured the tickets through a business contact and presented Lee with them as a surprise gift when they were having breakfast in bed one lazy Sunday morning. As touched as he was by the gesture, Lee had gotten more and more nervous as the day of the concert approached - after all, what sort of place was a rock concert for a recovering addict? But the outing turned out to be an unequivocal success, and after the last encore he and Luke walked out of the venue hand in hand, happily discussing their favorite elements of the performance. Lee can still remember the bubble of hope he’d felt in his chest that night – the unwavering certainty that from here on in, things were going to be different, and he was going to be stronger – and it resurfaces, as it always does, the moment he pulls the T-shirt over his head.

As far as pants go, there isn't much to choose from. Lee owns a grand total of two pairs, both of which seem woefully inadequate for the purpose. "Do you think I could borrow a pair of your trousers?"

Richard looks at him in confusion. "Why? What's wrong with your own?"

Lee steps into his favorite pair of cargo pants, zipping them up and turning to look at his reflection in the mirror. "Are you sure this is appropriate for the occasion? I look so bland. This is what I would wear on any average day." He thinks with regret of his impulsive decision to decline O'Gorman's offer to hire a stylist for the photo shoot - it makes a lot more sense in hindsight.

"I think that is exactly the point, Lee." Richard places a hand on the small of Lee's back, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "The readers of _People_ want to see the real you, not some poshed-up version of you. And you don't look bland, not even remotely. You look like you, therefore spectacularly handsome."

Lee smirks and gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "God, you're such a sap."

Richard grins back. "It's true, though. These are the clothes that suit you, that tell the world who Lee Pace is. You wouldn't feel comfortable in a pair of my pants, and the camera is ruthless - it would pick up on that immediately." He glances at his watch. "And speaking of pants, I had best get some on myself."

Before he can, however, Lee seizes him by the waist and pulls him closer for a kiss of a different kind - sweeter and full of gratitude. "Thank you for coming with me today," he says earnestly. "This would be ten times more nerve-wracking if it weren't for you supporting me, and I can't tell you how much it means to me."

"Of course, Lee." The smile Richard gives him is warm and brimming with affection. "I'm proud of you for doing this, you know that."

Lee does know. Over the course of the last few days they've talked about it at length, going over the pros and cons of the interview one more time. While the latter formed a short list, there was one in particular that had apparently been giving Richard a lot of grief – a worry that he clearly hadn’t been able to articulate until now.

They had been talking about exposure - more specifically, any negative attention for the shop or Lee himself that might result from the article - and when Lee commented (not for the first time) how odd it would be for strangers to be able to open a magazine and read such intimate details about his life and past, he heard Richard take a steeling breath.

"Have you thought about – have you -" Richard stumbled on his words but made a quick recovery, Lee giving him what he hoped was a bolstering smile. Despite having made leaps and bounds on the communication front – and Fran was thrilled with the progress they'd made – Richard still had a lingering tendency to take his time sharing the things that he thought would upset Lee the most or have the biggest impact on him. If he’d held this concern back until two days before the interview itself, it had to be important.

And indeed it was.

"Have you realized that one of the people picking up the magazine and seeing the article might be Eric?"

The thought had in fact been whizzing around in Lee's mind for a while, like a pesky fly that wouldn't get caught. Even if Eric didn't know his real name - after introducing himself as Roy at their first meeting Lee had never bothered to set the record straight - the story and the pictures would speak for themselves. He had changed a lot in the last fifteen years, but not unrecognizably.

"Yeah," he said, "I have given that some thought, actually."

"Does it worry you?" Richard asked. "I know you asked O'Gorman not to include last names and locations, but I doubt that will stop Eric from tracking you down if he puts his mind to it. I'm not saying that he will, even if he does see the article, but I think you should be prepared for the possibility. The money you stole from him could be all the incentive he needs to pay you a visit." He reached out and took Lee's hands, the smile he did his best to muster tempered by the worry in his eyes. "I'm scared to think how seeing him might affect you, Lee. After all the hard work we did in therapy-"

Lee shook his head and gently freed one of his hands to cup the side of Richard's face. "Please don't be scared. I've spent too many years doing that myself - avoiding places I knew Eric frequented, always keeping an eye out for him when I walked down the street, took the bus or went to the supermarket." He paused for a moment before continuing thoughtfully, "Getting inked was part of it too, you know. It was a way to transform myself into someone different. I taught myself to disguise my accent and tried to pass for a New Yorker, I grew my beard and started accumulating these tattoos to wear them like armor. Anything to create a new identity and erase the old one from existence. It helped that Eric never called me Lee, else I might have had to adopt a new name as well." He offered Richard a crooked smile. "Remember the first time I told you about Eric and said he held no sway over me anymore? I know now that that wasn't as true as I wanted it to be. These past few weeks in therapy with you have taught me that. But Fran is great, and I'm learning to accept myself for who I am, fuck-ups and all, and I'm so grateful that you're doing this together with me. I feel so much stronger because of it, so much braver. So if Eric wants to come and find me, let him. I'd have a few things to say to him as well."

His words were met by a look of unabashed pride from Richard, who proceeded to lean in and kiss him recklessly, not just once but a bunch of times. "You're extraordinary, Lee," he murmured in between kisses, and Lee's heart soared like it had sprouted wings, bolstering his confidence further and making him feel like he could achieve anything.

There was such a lightness in not being weighted down by fear anymore. What was there for him to be afraid of now, when he had already looked down the barrel of the gun, many years ago, and yet had gone on to live and laugh and even love another day? He had been lucky enough to get some help - not everyone did - and smart enough to accept it, to choose life rather than the grim alternative. And god, did he reap the rewards of that choice now. There was a reason Fran called him a survivor and not a victim.

That afternoon, after his conversation with Richard, Lee had buckled down and done something he'd been putting off for a while - he'd called his parents to tell them about the article. Mom and Dad had finally figured out how to use Skype and the webcam, and his mother had cried a little when she saw him, telling him over and over how grown up and healthy and well he looked. Lee had to choke back a tear or two as well when his sister Ann, who was spending a week of the summer vacation at their parents' farmhouse with her family, had taken the two little girls on her lap and encouraged them to wave at Uncle Lee.

"Oh my god, Ann," he said thickly, leaning close to the screen and taking in his nieces' curious little faces, "Olivia looks so much like you."

"I know," Ann smiled. "She's a real chip off the old block."

One-year-old Olivia was really too young to understand what was going on and who she was supposed to be waving at, but Hannah was more than happy to answer some of Lee's questions and show him the colorful drawing she'd made earlier that day and which Lee praised to high heaven.

"Thank you for letting me see them," Lee said after Ann had let Hannah climb off her lap and handed Olivia over to her daddy. "And for calling me their uncle. That really means a lot to me."

"You _are_ their uncle, Lee. You always have been. And while I wish you would have been in their lives all along, I'm glad that you're willing to be a part of this family again."

"I was always willing," Lee quietly confessed, struggling to swallow around a big lump that had gotten mysteriously lodged in his throat. "Just not sure if I was wanted, with my history and the way I look now."

"Of course you are wanted. And if you're serious about coming over for Thanksgiving, which I hope you are, it can't hurt to start preparing the girls."

"Of course I'm serious about that."

"What about your- uhm, Richard?" Lee's mother piped up. She had been surprisingly willing to accept the fact that Lee was in a relationship with another man - he wondered if she'd had her suspicions about him even before he sent that revealing letter from rehab - but she still stumbled on the word boyfriend. "When will we get to see the mystery man?"

Lee smiled. "'My' Richard is not here at the moment, but you'll see him come November. I don't think he's ever had deep-fried turkey the Texan way, and he's duly excited."

"Does he like chestnut puree?"

"Not a clue, but in my experience the man eats just about anything." Lee chuckled. "Don't tell me you're already making lists and stocking up on supplies for November, Mom."

After a few more minutes of lighthearted banter about Thanksgiving and other safe topics, Lee had carefully introduced the issue that was on the forefront of his mind - the article - using the carefully thought-out phrases he'd rehearsed with Richard beforehand. Not surprisingly, his parents weren't thrilled with the idea of their son broadcasting his drug story in a national magazine, let alone one as well-read as _People_ , and they didn't hold back on voicing their concerns.

"Why would you want to air your dirty laundry on a public forum like that?" Lee's dad asked. He was a quiet honest man, who valued living a quiet honest life and had always harped on familial privacy as something to be guarded and protected. "Why would you let a member of the press root around in your past and dig up old bones that are best left buried?"

"But they're not buried, Dad," Lee asserted. "Not for me. Addiction isn't something you can ever forget or shrug off like a piece of clothing. It is still here for me to deal with every day, because I will never be able to look over my shoulder and not see the things that might have been or the bad decisions that kept me from achieving them. But I don't think of it as dirty laundry, and I'm not ashamed of it. I made a huge mistake, one that is made by thousands of people every day, some even younger than I was, and god, it's such a terrible waste, so unnecessary. Education could do so much in terms of prevention. The fact that prescription drugs can be addictive and dangerous isn't even that widely known; I've actually had people tell me that what I went through can't have happened because oxycodone is something a doctor prescribes. The more people read my story, the higher the chance that it will make a difference in some way, maybe even help save a life."

"We know you have only the best intentions, Lee," his mother said soothingly. "Dad and I are just worried about you. We are only just starting to understand what you went through all those years ago. What if doing this interview dredges all that hurt back up again and triggers some kind of relapse?"

Seeing her worry, Lee shook his head emphatically. "That's not going to happen, Mom. Trust me, it won't. I'm in a good place now, working on further improvements, and doing this article is something I think will benefit others as well as myself. Please try to see the good in this?"

Ann had taken Lee's side, arguing that it was his story and his to do with as he thought best, and in the end his parents capitulated, asking him to think about it carefully and to talk it through with his therapist and sponsor. He had already done both, but he made the promise and the conversation veered back to Thanksgiving after that, with Lee having to answer many more questions about the things he and Richard would like to eat on the big day. He interpreted his Mom's tenacity on the subject as a sign that she was looking forward to having the whole family together for the first time, and good food had always been the cornerstone of the family gatherings Lee remembered from his childhood. No doubt the homemade cinnamon-apple sauce would taste just as delicious as it did when he was a kid (or even more so, if Mom had continued to perfect the recipe over the past fifteen years).

But today, the day of the interview, his mother's apple sauce is about the last thing on Lee's mind as he and Richard leave the apartment in a hurry to catch a subway to the East Village. Lee knows the timetable by heart and has made it a sport to time his walk to the station as perfectly and as efficiently as possible, so he is quite gratified when the train pulls up in front of them approximately three seconds after they step onto the platform.

"Mmm, don't you just love the subway in summer?" Richard drily remarks as they secure two seats in the back of the last car and the train gets moving, the hot föhn from the underground tunnels blowing in through the opened windows. "Where else does one get that delightful experience of slowly being cooked in one's own sweat - and that of the people surrounding you, if you're lucky."

"That's exactly why you need to get your own bike, Rich - so we can avoid public transport," Lee points out. He has been trying to get Richard warmed up to the idea for some time now. "As much as I love taking you out on the back of mine and the dirty places it makes your mind veer off to, getting hard every time we go anywhere in public might start posing a problem after a while." Thinking back to Richard's confession about his inappropriate hard-ons on the bike still puts a smirk on his face, and it isn't often that he can resist teasing Richard with it when the opportunity presents itself. "Especially since the circumstances may not always allow me to, mmm, take appropriate action."

Richard gapes at him for a moment or two, as if trying to work out if Lee's innuendo means what he thinks it does, before slowly shaking his head and deadpanning, "You're bloody hilarious, Pace. But I don't exactly need the excuse anymore, do I?"

"To do what?"

"This." Richard sidles closer and coils his arm around Lee's waist, which Lee is more than happy to allow, leaning his head on Richard's shoulder and letting his eyes slide shut for a moment. They're on a crowded subway, but New Yorkers are stars at minding their own business and have seen too much to be scandalized by two men cuddling in public. And Richard, to Lee's surprise and delight, is proving to be quite an unapologetic PDA enthusiast.

"So," Richard murmurs into Lee's ear, "what you're saying is that if an, ah, situation like that were to present itself in the future, you may be open to... taking appropriate action?"

Lee smiles, not surprised that Richard is latching on to that particular remark. "Provided you can find us somewhere secluded enough for no one to hear your moans, then by all means. Been a long time since I've got a man off in a public bathroom or the like, and I'm not opposed to brushing up my skills."

Richard groans softly and leans his forehead against Lee's temple. "Shit, Lee," he murmurs, "unless you're planning to drag me off to the bathroom and get down on your knees the minute we get to the shop, I think you need to stop talking now."

"Wouldn't that be a great way to start a day at the office, though?" Lee teases, giving Richard's thigh a squeeze. "Sorry, babe. Another time, and preferably another place. Unless you don't mind being teased by the rest of the crew for all eternity. It's a small place and gossip is rampant."

It is a twenty minute journey from door to door, and when they get to the shop - well in time for Lee's first appointment of the day - they find Aidan already busy preparing the work stations and Evie putting the finishing touches to getting the shop spotless and ready for Dean and the photographer from _People_ , who are due to arrive in less than an hour. Blasting from the speakers is a song Lee doesn't recognize - probably one of Evie's favorite obscure metal bands.

"Hey, Richard," Evie beams as she turns the volume down and comes sashaying over to give him a hug. She's dyed her hair cotton candy pink for the occasion and looks teeth-rottingly adorable in her tiny plaid skirt and black top.

"Well, hi to you too, Eves," Lee says drily, and he gets a poke in the ribs for his trouble.

"Richard's face is not the one I get to see every day," she teases, but she gives his waist a squeeze all the same and pulls away with a quasi-innocent smirk. "Have you heard anything from Luke lately?" It is a tongue-in-cheek question that requires no answer - Lee has told her about Luke's visit the other day, and she almost rolled off her chair laughing in glee at the thought of Luke coming over in hopes of a pity fuck and getting a cold shower instead.

"I am just here for silent support today, Evie," Richard explains with a smile, "but I like making myself useful any way I can, so... if there is any work that needs doing, please direct me to it."

"God, you're adorable," she sighs, reaching up and stroking his cheek as he blushes. "Actually, I could use a strong man to help me carry some of the chairs down to the basement. Professional photographers haul a shitload of equipment around and we're really tight for space."

Aidan, who has been trying not to watch the interaction too obviously but wears his jealousy on his face like a neon sign, tracks the two with his eyes as they wheel one of the big tattoo chairs out of the room. "So apparently she doesn't even think of me as a man," he says mournfully. "I don't get it. I am only four years younger, but she treats me like a cute puppy. How do I make her see me differently?"

Lee heaves a quiet sigh; Aidan's crush is getting more painful to watch by the day and he does feel bad for the kid, but he is not too confident about his ability to impart dating advice, nor does he have the slightest wish to play matchmaker for these two.

"You and Evie are friends - does she ever talk about me?" Still staring at the door Evie and Richard have disappeared through, Aidan strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Do you think she would notice me if I had a beard? I bet I could grow a super manly beard, and I'm kind of tempted to give it a try. Might be a good way to hide my fat chin, too."

"You don't have a fat chin, Aidan. And even if you did, I don't think that would stop Evie from dating you if she liked you."

"I do so have a fat chin," Aidan mopes, turning his head this way and that as he inspects his reflection in the mirror. "Hey, you know what else might help? Rolling up my sleeves and showing my forearms more often. Girls tell me my forearms are one of my strengths."

Lee rolls his eyes and smacks the back of Aidan's head playfully. "Here's a tip for you: if you want Evie to stop seeing you as a cute puppy, how about you stop following her around like one and try something a little more adult. Like asking her out on a date, for instance. Have you ever actually tried that?" Aidan shakes his head. "Well, that might be a good place to start. And no, clubbing does not count as a date."

Aidan mulls Lee's words over for a moment. "She told me she likes Mexican food," he says slowly, with a questioning glance in Lee's direction. "So... maybe she'd say yes if I asked her out for tacos after work?"

"There you go - finally starting to talk some sense." Lee gives Aidan's unruly curls a quick ruffle. "Good boy."

The affection is heartfelt, but there used to be a time when Lee thought Ian had gone temporarily senile when he took Aidan on. Lee is no paragon of virtue by any means, but even in the heyday of his addiction he never resorted to pickpocketing or robbing people to support his habit - he only took what he could mooch off of them (Eric being the one exception) and kept his record clean. Aidan on the other hand had had his fair share of brushes with the law before he joined their crew. After high school and a couple of years of doing various jobs he'd fallen in with the wrong sort of crowd and dabbled in petty crime - including but not limited to loitering, stealing cigarettes and beer from the local supermarket and damaging property (he had at least half a dozen broken windows to his name and liked to take a few spray cans and vent his creativity on any bare expanse of wall he could find).

But Aidan was no born criminal, as evidenced by the fact that he got arrested when trying to steal the hubcaps off a car in broad daylight one Sunday afternoon. When the police searched his bag for other stolen goods, they’d found his cans, and they didn’t even need to get him as far as the station for processing before he was confessing to his other endeavors. He spent the night in a holding cell and appeared in court the following morning, pleading guilty to attempted theft and a representative charge of property damage. It wasn’t until months down the line that Ian and Lee discovered that he hadn’t had a lawyer to speak on his behalf – he was so intimidated by the court processes, the expensive suits and the indecipherable words that he insisted he didn’t want one. In the end, though, the sentence that was handed down from the bench was fairly lenient: in addition to eighty hours’ community service, he was ordered to repair the damage he’d caused around the neighborhood by cleaning up the graffiti he’d left in various places. Those works included a piece on the tattoo shop window that Lee had discovered the morning after St Patrick’s Day (fittingly, it was a caricature of an emaciated leprechaun dressed in American colors, clutching his empty pot of gold and wearing a look of lament). As a piece of social commentary it was impressive - unfortunately, it was also impressive in size, thus leaving the whole place feeling unusually dark. That was how Aidan had first landed on Ian’s radar – Ian had actually been quite taken with the artist’s talents, his irritation at the store front being tagged fading away to be replaced by curiosity as soon as he saw it, and that curiosity only growing once he’d met Aidan – and despite Lee’s misgivings Ian decided to give the kid a chance. No sooner did he finish his community service than Aidan was working at the shop - starting at the bottom of the pack just like Lee had ten years earlier.

At the time Lee thought that Aidan wouldn't last longer than a month at the shop, that he'd either get bored or get caught trying to steal from the till. But he was wrong. Aidan has never so much as looked at the till and has proven himself a man reformed, eager to learn and willing to put in a hard day's work. Lee doesn't mind admitting to himself that he has come to think very highly of Aidan, not least because the lad has taken a shine to Evie, which is a testament to his good taste. But when it comes to actually romancing the woman he likes, Aidan could definitely use a little guidance. Lee thinks it incredibly ironic that that guidance has somehow ended up coming from him of all people.

An hour later it's business as usual at the shop, with a few marked differences - there is a note on the door asking walk-in customers to come back another day (all clients with an appointment have been informed of the circumstances beforehand) and Lee is working on his first client of the day while O'Gorman sits in the next chair scribbling away in a notepad and a photographer darts around the shop taking candid pictures with a handheld camera. It is an unusual situation, but the photographer - a jovial man with salt-and-pepper curls pulled back in an artistic ponytail, who introduced himself to Lee as Andy - works quietly and appears to be very good at what he does, and after a while Lee grows accustomed to the click of the camera (sparing a moment to take some pride in the fact that he is able to feel at ease in a situation that until recently would have caused him considerable anxiety) and learns to block it out in favor of focusing on his client, a middle-aged woman who is here to get a tattoo in honor of her husband, who died of cancer the previous year. O'Gorman will conduct one-on-one interviews with Lee, Evie and Aidan later in the day, but for now he is just a silent observer.

Another silent observer in the room is Dean's cousin Jack, a scrawny lad of seventeen with a defiant look who nonetheless seems more interested in the tattoo machine in Lee's hand than he wants to let on. So far he has said - or rather grunted - no more than ten words, if that, but O'Gorman has already told Lee the gist of the story - how Jack has gone down a dark path after the death of his brother Kieran, staying out late, getting suspended from school and worst of all, experimenting with drugs. Lee has seen people in all stages of addiction, and Jack's pallid skin, sunken eyes and nervous tics betray that he is definitely in a bad way, but from what Lee can gather he seems to still be on the right side of the divide in terms of physical dependence, which means that he can get clean without having to go through withdrawal. That is heartening, but Lee knows that once a user gets bored with snorting and starts shooting up, it is just a short way down to rock bottom.

Seeing this poor, lost kid on the precipice of that free fall tugs on Lee's heartstrings, more than he had anticipated. But what can he do? He literally hasn't tried to have a conversation with a teenager since he was one himself - how in the world is he going to get through to this troubled young man, who so very clearly doesn't want to be here and is probably already thinking of his next fix?

When Lee is working, he measures time in tattoos rather than minutes. The lady's commemorative piece is relatively small and simple and takes about 45 minutes. The next two are text-only and require no more than 30 minutes each. The fourth client of the day wants a more elaborate tattoo with intricate shading, which sets him back well over an hour and a half. As the man admires the result in the mirror and Aidan comes over to apply the bandage, Lee pulls off and bins his latex gloves and gently rolls his head and shoulders to loosen up the muscles. "My stomach tells me it's time for a break," he announces, "and possibly pizza."

"Well, then you're in luck," Aidan says. "Richard just went out to get some."

"He did?" Lee asks sheepishly. It isn't unusual for him to miss the things going on around him when he's tattooing, but Richard leaving is not something that should have escaped his attention.

"Uh huh, to the little Italian place down the street. He should be back soon."

Once Lee has seen the client out, he goes over to where O'Gorman and the photographer are hunched together behind a laptop, reviewing the pictures Andy has taken so far. (Jack, who looks bored out of his mind, has resorted to flicking idly through magazines from the shop's waiting area.) "Are you guys getting what you need for the article?"

"And then some." Dean nods and waves his notebook about. He has the same glitter of excitement in his eye as he did when he first made the pitch, but this time Lee catches himself thinking that the young reporter's inner fire might just infect him too. O'Gorman glances at his watch. "I think I want to get started with the individual interviews soon, and I'd like to start with you, Lee, if it suits you."

"Sure. Evie cleared my schedule for a couple hours. We can do it in the office."

"And Andy's going to set up a little studio in the meantime and have a photo shoot with each of you after the interview, is that okay?"

Lee nods and glances at Andy, who gives him a bolstering smile. "Nervous, aren't you? You wouldn't be the first. Don't worry, Lee, we'll find the model hiding inside you and break him out of his shell."

Richard returns a few minutes later with two armfuls of steaming pizza boxes and gets a warm welcome - cheered on by the entire crew, he carries his haul through to the tiny kitchen, which immediately fills up with the delicious scent of garlic. Lee, who has followed him, inhales greedily.

"Look who just made himself popular." Lee slides his arm around Richard's waist and kisses him on the cheek. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"It's no big deal." Richard smiles. "And Evie may or may not have heavily implied that the gesture would be appreciated, so..."

"You two are awfully cozy all of a sudden," Lee teases, lowering his hand and giving Richard's ass a playful-possessive squeeze. "Should I be jealous?"

"Thought you knew better," Richard murmurs. "Evie isn't the one I want to do this to." Barely has he said it or Lee is being pressed up against the kitchen counter by Richard's body and held by Richard's arms and kissed without hurry, Richard's mouth moving slowly but insistently against his. It is lovely, and Lee is sorry when his stomach growls in response to the delicious smells, interrupting the moment before he can find out how far they can take this before someone walks in.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "Hard work makes hungry, and it smells really good. Did you get my favorite?"

Richard groans. "The monstrosity with the meatballs, stringy cheese and extra garlic? I should have boycotted that on a matter of principle, but-"

"But you didn't, because you know I love it and you love to spoil me." Lee steals another kiss and reaches for Richard's hands, curling his fingers around his.

"Yes," Richard sighs, "that is all very true."

"Thank you, baby." For a few long moments they stand like this, fingers linked together and their foreheads joined. "Hey, after pizza O'Gorman and I are going to head into the office for the interview. And Jack will be there too, I suppose."

"Okay." Richard gives Lee's fingers a little squeeze. "How are you feeling about it now?"

"I'm more nervous about the photo shoot than about the interview," Lee says with a little laugh. "But it's going to be fine. I've told this story to so many people by now, a few million more aren't going to make a difference. I can do this."

"I know you can," Richard says. "I've seen how strong you are in therapy, so I'm not the least bit worried. Ask for a break if you need one, okay? I'll be right outside the whole time."

Lee nods and leans in for another kiss. "I love you." He says it slowly and deliberately, looking into Richard's eyes as he does. They have been using the words sparingly, not wanting the newness to go away, but this is one of those moments that would feel incomplete without them. And although Richard doesn't say it back this time, the sentiment is right there in his eyes and smile and Lee doesn't need more than that.

"I bet you say that to all the guys who bring you pizza."

"Only the ones I get to feel up on a regular basis."

Leaning against the kitchen counter, they help themselves to a slice of pizza (Lee badgering Richard to try a bite of his until the poor man relents) and soon the others start showing up to claim their share. There is plenty, so Andy and Dean dig in as well, and the powerful allure of pizza even puts a semblance of a smile on Jack's scowling face.

After the simple but bountiful feast (as well as a clandestine kiss and whispered _good luck_ from Richard), Lee leads Dean into the office - Jack trailing listlessly behind, too apathetic to protest - and closes the door. As they take their seats, Lee cannot help but hearken back to the last time he and Dean were in this room together and how different the mood was then.

It is not the pleasantest of memories - but it doesn't change his mind about what they're here to do.

"Thank you for granting me this interview, Lee. I really appreciate your trust, especially given our, ah, history, and you have my word that I will do your story justice." Dean produces his recorder and waits for Lee's nod before pushing the button and placing it on the desk between them. "I'll be asking you questions later on, but for now I would just like for you to tell your story in your own words. So, whenever you're ready - start from the beginning."


	31. Gannet

Having told the story many times by now, Lee doesn't need to think about where to begin, and once he finds his flow he talks for almost an hour with barely an interruption from Dean, who only moves to jot down the occasional note on paper. Eventually becoming less aware of the recorder running discreetly on the desk, he talks about the night he got behind the wheel tired and paid for that decision dearly. He talks about his busted up back, the months of demoralizingly slow recovery and the constant pressure he put on himself to do well in that prestigious school his parents were bleeding to pay for. And as much as it pains him, he talks about how he started pushing his family away for fear of disappointing them, about the lies he told to keep them ignorant of his pill problem and of the fact that he was gay (something he'd kept close to his chest in high school but started exploring more once he arrived at Juilliard). How he'd been so sure that his parents would reject his true identity that he had never even given them the chance to prove him wrong, and pissed away fifteen years' worth of family moments and memories because of it. 

That is all on him. The lies he told and the pain he caused and the damage he did to his body - he has no one to blame for that other than himself. By choosing the drugs, he unthinkingly threw away everything that was good in his life, sliding down the slippery slope of self-destruction until a kind soul in the street noticed a spark of talent in him and decided to give him a chance at a life without drugs. Not the life he'd always dreamt of, perhaps, but one worth living all the same. 

Lee knows for a fact that if it weren't for Ian, he'd be long dead and buried. That is no false sentimentality but the cold hard truth, and his voice automatically fills up with tears, the way it often does when he talks about his old friend and mentor. His debt to the man is immeasurable - in more ways than one, because not only did Ian pay for rehab and refuse to be reimbursed for it later, he taught Lee everything he knows about tattooing. Lee couldn't have started his new career under more favorable circumstances. 

About Eric he doesn't breathe a word. He is not ashamed of the rapes themselves - what he _is_ embarrassed by is his own stupidity for letting himself get trapped in that situation - but that particular part of his history is too near and too private to be shared with as wide an audience as this, the recently reopened wound still too tender. He and Richard are still working on healing it several times a week in therapy. Only a select few know the extent of the abuse he was subjected to - and that is how he means for it to stay, at least for now. 

"Did you want to die?" Dean is leaning forward, eyes trained on Lee earnestly. It is the first question he's asked since the interview began. "Before you met Ian, when you were living in the streets with only the drugs for company, I imagine life must have looked incredibly bleak. You already mentioned two accidental overdoses. Was there ever a time when you thought, fuck it all?" 

Lee considers his answer carefully. "When you're in a situation like that for an extended period of time, it's inevitable that you start thinking about death differently. Were there ever moments when I was so cold and miserable that death seemed like a damn good alternative? Sure. But then the sun would come out or a friendly lady would stop to talk to me for a few minutes or I'd hear a good song playing on the radio somewhere and I'd be high enough to enjoy it. And that would give me hope again, hope that somehow, someday, things would take a turn for the better. So no, I never seriously considered taking a fatal cocktail or walking headlong into oncoming traffic." 

"You must be grateful for that now." 

Lee nods and waits a few moments to make sure his voice is steady. "You have no idea just how grateful." 

Dean goes on to ask many more questions, about Lee's experiences in rehab, his relapse and struggles as a recovering addict as well as about a whole range of other topics - like his acting dream, his current relationship with his parents and his most significant tattoos. In the chair next to Dean, Jack is looking every bit the disinterested teenager, arms crossed and a surly expression on his face that makes it clear he'd rather be anywhere but here. 

"Okay, Lee," Dean says eventually, after a discreet glance at his watch, "I'm afraid there is only time left for a few closing questions and then we'll have to wrap this up, else I won't be able to squeeze in the other two. Since we've been talking exclusively about the past and present up until now, I'd like to end this interview with a little peek into the future. What is life after addiction like for you, and what are your goals?" 

Lee expected this question to come up in some shape or form, and he is glad he's given it some thought beforehand. "Other than the obvious, which is staying sober, I hope to mend my relationship with my family. I talk to them regularly on the phone and I'm planning to go down there for Thanksgiving, meet my sister's husband and kids and continue rebuilding those bridges I burned. I'm also tentatively considering taking up acting again in the future, as a hobby. Broadway will always be an unattainable dream now, I suppose, but I've made my peace with that. I'm happy here at the shop and happy with where life is taking me at the moment. There is still some way to go but I'm optimistic, more so than I've ever been, actually." 

"Do you think you've found the key to staying sober?" 

Lee shrugs. "I'm not sure there is such a thing, at least not generally speaking. But I do know that having a support system makes a great deal of difference. Addiction never affects just the one person - it can easily hold an entire family captive. I've already hurt a lot of people who are important to me, and all I can do is make sure it doesn't happen again. So whenever I have a crappy day and start thinking about how a handful of pills would make it all go away, I stop and think about them instead, about the people I'd be letting down if I fell off the wagon. My family, Ian and my friends here at the shop, and of course my boyfriend, who is incredibly supportive and understanding about my recovery. I definitely broke one of the cardinal rules of the program by starting a new relationship so soon, but I knew that I couldn't let this one get away. And I must say, the gamble has paid off - a million times over." 

"Do you reckon he would still support you if you relapsed?" 

It is not a question Lee had anticipated, but he doesn't need to think about the answer. "He would only support my recovery. There is a very treacherous line between supporting and enabling, one that is very easily crossed, and I know that our relationship would be over the minute we did. And he is the best thing to have happened to me in at least fifteen years, so I'm not going to put myself in a position where I might end up having to pay that price." 

"And your parents," Dean says, "you mentioned reconnecting with them, so I think it's safe to say they accept your sexuality after all?" 

"They seem surprisingly chill about it," Lee smiles. "Frankly, I think my Mom will be okay with whomever I bring to visit so long as he has a healthy appetite. Which he does, so I'm not worried." 

O'Gorman mirrors the smile. "If there was anything you could say to young people who are in the same situation as you were, what would it be?" 

Jack, who hasn't stirred throughout the entire interview, huffs out an annoyed sigh he seems to have been holding in for a while. "Oh, for fuck's sake." 

Lee ignores him for now. "I would ask them to talk to someone they trust. A family member, a friend, a teacher or counselor - anyone. There are even telephone numbers you can call anonymously and for free. As lonely as it feels to be in that place, there is always someone who cares." 

"Did _you_?" Jack scoffs. "Talk to anyone?" 

"No," Lee replies truthfully, looking at Jack now instead of Dean. "Like so many I made the mistake not to, and not a day goes by that I don't wish I had. Especially since there were plenty of people who would have been willing to listen and help." 

"Have you ever considered being one of those yourself?" Dean asks. "Professionally or semiprofessionally or in any capacity at all?" 

"I can't say that I have." 

"Maybe you should. I think you might be very good at it." O'Gorman takes the recorder and switches it off. "We're out of time, Lee, but I thank you for sharing as much as you have. I have plenty to draw from, but I'll contact you if I need any gaps filled or facts checked. And of course you'll get to read the whole text before it goes to print, as we agreed." 

Lee nods. "Any thoughts yet on when it will run?" 

"Fingers crossed for September." Dean grins as he makes the gesture. "I'm fairly optimistic but some more string-pulling may be required. I'll let you know." He gets to his feet. "Will you excuse me while I go and check how Andy's getting on? He should have the easiest job with three photogenic subjects like yourselves. Come to think of it, we may have to include some kind of disclaimer stating that the people in the photographs are the actual interviewees rather than hired models." 

Lee makes a face and shifts his gaze to Jack as Dean exits the room. "That cousin of yours is slicker than grease," he says, in an attempt at breaking the ice, and lo and behold, he gets a grimace for his trouble. It isn't much to go on and he feels quite out of his depth, but he made a promise to O'Gorman (whose departure from the room can only be interpreted as an extremely unsubtle hint). If he is honest, though, meeting Jack - and seeing that painfully familiar hollow-eyed look and nervous restlessness in someone even younger than he was at the time - has affected him more profoundly than he thought it would, and it's only made him more determined to try and get through to the lad. But he knows all too well that unless Jack wants the help, there is no hope of succeeding. 

"Do _you_ have any questions for me, Jack?" he asks gently. He is treading carefully, not sure what tone to use, and Jack's face immediately closes up before his eyes. 

"Don't bother," Jack grunts. "I know the only reason you're pretending to give a shit is because Dean put you up to it. He should have kept his mouth shut." 

"He is worried about you, and I'm sure your parents are too. They've already lost a son to drugs-" 

"Hey, you shut the fuck up about my brother," Jack flares up, glowering at Lee across the desk with an angry glitter in those dull, bloodshot eyes. It's the most alive Lee has seen him all day. "You don't know shit about him." 

"You're right, I don't," Lee concedes. "I've never had a brother and I certainly don't know what it's like to lose one at such a young age. But you could tell me about him if you wanted?" 

"Well guess what, I don't," Jack sullenly replies, pushing his too-long hair out of his eyes. "Look, this shop is pretty sweet and you make some rad tattoos, but I'm really not interested in listening to your pep talks or your lies about how great and healing rehab was. You just lucked out, okay, and my brother didn't. It's as simple as that." 

"And what about you?" Lee asks as Jack gets to his feet. "Where will you end up if you keep going the way you're going?" 

A shrug. "I'll be all right." 

"Without help, I don't think you will." 

"Whatever. I don't care. Everybody needs to just back off and leave me the fuck alone." Jack brusquely turns away to leave. 

"Hey." Lee gets up also, reaching into the desk drawer. "Do you smoke cigarettes?" 

"Why? Are you going to lecture me on that too?" 

Ignoring the taunt, Lee produces a pen and an opened pack of cigarettes and scribbles his mobile phone number on the back before pressing it into Jack's hand. "Here, take this. If you change your mind, if you decide you want the help after all or if you just want to talk, give me a call. Day or night. And Jack - I know how rough things can get out there, okay? Please take care of yourself." 

"Okay, _Mom_." Jack flicks the pack open, eyes lighting up when he sees it's nearly full. 

Lee doesn't smile. "It's not a joke, Jack. There's always people trying to take advantage, so be careful with whom you trust. Don't get into cars with strangers, especially older men." 

"Jesus." Jack scowls at him in disgust. "What the fuck are you saying? I'm not going to suck some pervert's cock for a fix, man. Is that what you did when you were on the streets?" 

Lee gives no answer, crossing the room and opening the door to let the outside noise in. "If you want to smoke," he says, gesturing at the pack of cigarettes in Jack's hand, "there's a patio out back." 

*** 

Half an hour later, surrounded by lights and reflectors and practically blinded by the repetitive bright flash of the camera, Lee is starting to seriously doubt there's a model hiding inside him after all. If there is, he sure is taking his time to appear in spite of Andy's best efforts. And while Andy is a consummate professional (with a cheerful disposition and the patience of a saint), he is struggling to get Lee to relax on his artificial little set, which offers him absolutely nothing to play off of. The spotlight is turned on him - there is nothing or no one to hide behind, just his face and his body filling the frame, and the daunting knowledge that this picture will be seen by countless people nationwide doesn't exactly help. With a photographer who isn't getting what he needs and Lee feeling more like a failure with every click of the camera, this photo shoot is shaping up to be a fiasco of the first order. 

"Don't get frustrated, Lee," Andy says as he emerges from behind his tripod, taking off his baseball cap and scratching his head. "Your smile looks forced and the tension is showing in your face, especially around your eyes." 

"I'm sorry." Lee stuffs his hands down his pockets and sighs. "This is harder than I thought." 

"Don't worry, Lee, I always get my picture in the end. For now, let's take a five minute break. Have a cigarette or a nice cup of coffee before we give it another go, eh? Wipe the slate clean and start fresh." 

Lee nods in agreement but doesn't move off the set, instead staring down at the floor dejectedly until a familiar pair of blue sneakers - size 13 - steps into view. Richard brought them home a week or so ago, an impulse buy from what should have been a quick trip to the drugstore for shampoo and shaving cream. The unplanned purchase also included three pairs of brightly colored socks, because Richard likes to be playful and a little flamboyant with his footwear. 

"Well, this is turning out to be a giant waste of time and resources," Lee mutters. "Taking a picture shouldn't be this hard." 

"You're just distracted," Richard offers. "Your mind is obviously elsewhere. Are you still thinking about the interview?" 

"Nah, the interview went okay." Lee sighs again and rubs his face tiredly. "It's Jack. I promised O'Gorman I would talk to him and I tried, but he wasn't having it and now I can't get him out of my head. That kid is about to walk into the same trap I did, Rich, and it fucking kills me. I didn't think it would affect me this much but it does." 

Richard takes a step closer, putting a hand on Lee's shoulder and giving it a gentle rub. "Cutting a little too close to home?" 

"No, it's not that. At least not only that. I just feel like I failed the kid. Like I could have achieved more if I'd tried harder or gone about it differently. I just don't know how. Talking to teenagers is hard enough even when they're not dealing with the issues Jack has on his plate." 

"You didn't fail," Richard says. "You kept your promise to Dean, didn't you? You told your story and that is really all you can do for now. Jack strikes me as a quiet sort of kid - I wouldn't be surprised if he has been shutting away his emotions ever since his brother died, as a coping strategy. So even if he gave no indication that he was listening, what you said might still be resonating with him somehow." 

Doing his best to believe it, Lee nods slowly and slides his arms around Richard's waist. "I hope so. I gave him my number in case he changes his mind." 

"That's good." Richard pulls Lee gently closer. "Don't fall yourself too hard, Lee. You did the best you could. You said what you had to say and he heard you, even if he didn't want to. Just give your words some time to sink in. I can guarantee you that O'Gorman didn't bring Jack here expecting you to bring about an epiphany on the spot. You're not a miracle worker, after all. You said it yourself - the first step to sobriety is admitting that you have a problem, and Jack simply isn't there yet." 

Lee exhales and leans into Richard heavily, allowing himself to be comforted and his spirits to be lifted by the hug despite the feelings of doubt gnawing at the back of his mind. "I just wish I could have done more." 

"I know, love." Richard's arms squeeze around him a little tighter still, and they linger in the embrace for a few moments longer before they slowly disentangle to look at each other, Richard playfully rubbing the tips of their noses together until he coaxes a smile and a chuckle from Lee. 

It is then that the flash unexpectedly goes off, startling them both, and they turn simultaneously to see Andy grinning at them from behind the camera. "Sorry, guys," he says. "Saw a photo op and had to go for it." 

"But I'm not appearing in the article, Andy," Richard points out. "So unless you find a way to crop me out, that picture won't do you any good." 

"No, but it will look real nice on you guys' mantelpiece. And it's the first spontaneous, usable picture I've taken of Lee so far. No offense, buddy." 

"That's okay," Lee says with a self-deprecating smirk. "Any illusions I may have had about making a living off modeling are long gone." 

"You're just a bit camera-shy," Andy says. "I see it all the time. But I wonder if there is something else we can try." He beckons Richard over and takes the camera from its tripod. "Let's try handheld and see if we can add a little spontaneity by having you look at your boyfriend instead of at the camera. Don't make it too posey - if you don't know what to do with your hands, just put them in your pockets as any bloke would. That's better. Now look at Richard and forget there's a camera pointed at you." 

Lee cannot help but smile at the irony of the situation. "Dropout or not," he jokes, "with 18 months of drama school under my belt, you'd think I'd be somewhat prepared for this." The quip slips out spontaneously, surprising both Richard and himself - making light of what he considers to be his greatest failure is not something he's ever been able to do before. 

But fuck if it doesn't feel like a giant leap forward, and Richard responds in the same vein. "Clearly an education at Juilliard isn't all it's cracked up to be." 

Lee starts to laugh, not flinching this time when the flash goes off. "Suck an egg, Rich. We can't all be snooty LAMDA alums like yourself. We poor uncultured buggers on this side of the pond have to make do with what we've got." 

Having Lee play off of Richard seems to yield the effect Andy is looking for - in no time at all he's snapped several dozens of pictures, nodding approvingly as he reviews them on his laptop. "Good, Lee, these are making me much happier. I'd like to have you pose shirtless for the next set, with your tattoos in plain sight. Dean is really keen on that - honest, no holds barred pictures to go with a no holds barred story. Only if you're comfortable with it, of course. Your call." 

It is a question Lee is prepared for, and he exchanges a glance with Richard before nodding in concession. "It won't be tacky, right?" he can't resist asking, softening the potentially offending question with an apologetic smile. 

Andy isn't the least bit fazed. "I don't do tacky, Lee, unless I'm getting paid for it. Today my brief is 'tasteful, authentic and sexy', and that's what I intend to deliver." He raises a quizzical eyebrow at the face Lee makes. "What's that look? Objecting to the sexy part?" 

Lee shrugs. "Not so much objecting as being skeptical." 

"You don't think you can take a sexy picture?" Andy cracks a wide grin. "Love, let me prove you wrong. Off with that shirt." 

Curious to find out what other tricks Andy has up his sleeve, Lee obediently pulls the T-shirt over his head in one fluent, thoughtlessly executed movement, emerging to find Andy looking at him intently. 

"Could you do that again?" the photographer asks him. "But more slowly this time, and don't be afraid to be a little more seductive about it. Keep in mind that you're not taking off your shirt to put it in the wash at the end of the day. Unlike most of my models, you have the advantage of your boyfriend standing right here, so put on a little striptease for him if that helps you get in the right headspace." 

Lee cannot pretend that he doesn't enjoy the slow blush spreading across Richard's face at these words (or that the thought of stripping for the camera while Richard watches doesn't put a flutter in his stomach). "You have highly unconventional methods, Mr. Serkis." 

Andy laughs contagiously. "Whatever gets me the picture, Lee - that's every professional photographer's motto." 

They spend the next few minutes experimenting, trying different poses and angles that show Lee's body and tattoos to their best advantage while he slowly peels his shirt off over and over again and turns this way and that to let the camera capture every angle, every inch of skin and every flex of muscle. It is awkward at first (although looking at Richard does help make it marginally less so, and Lee would be lying if he said that the almost tangible heat of Richard's roving gaze on his skin doesn't serve as a powerful incentive) but his confidence gradually builds to a point where he feels comfortable enough to start flirting with the camera instead, to the elation of Andy, who feverishly snaps picture after picture and eventually tells Lee to get rid of the T-shirt altogether. 

As he tosses the shirt aside, Lee cannot help but hearken back to the first night he and Richard spent together, when the simple act of taking off his shirt and letting Richard look at him had taken a great deal of trust, afraid as he'd been that his true colors would be too much for Richard and send him running for the hills. Now he's about to bare himself for all of America with barely a second thought, driving home just how much has changed in a relatively short time. 

One thing that hasn't changed, however, is the way Richard looks at him - with a warmth and quiet sort of adoration Lee still can't quite believe he's worthy of. 

With his keen photographer's eye, Andy immediately picks out Lee's most photogenic tattoos, and unsurprisingly it is the phoenix he zeroes in on first. Covering the length of his left side - from his shoulder down to his hipbone - it is hands down Lee's largest and most striking piece, and they spend a good while finding the pose to do it justice, with Lee contorting and flexing his torso while Andy gives directions. They do the same with the quotes on the insides of his forearms and the dragon on his back, another dramatic masterpiece of Ian's that seems to inspire Andy. 

"Right, I think we've got more than enough to work with," Andy says after a very fruitful twenty minutes or so, browsing through the gallery of pictures on his laptop and turning the device to show them a centerfold-worthy image of Lee with his 'hope' tattoo turned towards the camera. His pose is remarkably natural, relaxed even, and there is a softness and vulnerability in his eyes that takes Lee by surprise. 

"Look at this," Andy says, tapping the screen, "and tell me that's not a sexy picture." 

"Wow," Lee murmurs, leaning closer the better to study the photograph. "You're very good, Andy. I thought I took a decent selfie but this right here is on a whole different level. Thank you for not giving up on me." 

A grin splits Andy's expressive face. "Giving up isn't in my vocabulary, Lee, and I enjoyed shooting you. You are very easy and pleasant to work with, you take direction well, and not unimportantly, you have the perfect look for this kind of shoot - good-looking, all American boy with an interesting edge that'll make you jump right off the page. It's going to look fucking amazing in print." 

Lee glances at Richard, whose eyes are also trained on the image on the screen. "What do you think, Rich?" he asks, somewhat anxiously. "Do you like it?" 

"It's a stunning photo." The eyes Richard turns on him are warm with pride, and he reaches out to take Lee's hand and tug him closer. "I can't say I'm all that surprised, though. After all, I already knew you're sexy - with or without a shirt on." 

*** 

It is past eleven by the time Lee closes up shop that night, locking the door from the inside and letting the shutters down (Ian had them installed shortly after Aidan vandalized the shop window - and then, ironically, asked Aidan to graffiti the shutters instead by way of advertisement). The last client has long since left, and so have Andy, Dean and Jack. The chairs have been brought back up from the basement and everything is back in its original place, waiting for business to resume its normal course the next day. Aidan and Evie have just left a few minutes ago, together. (When he heard Evie lamenting the fact that she always had to go home by herself now that Lee had moved out, Aidan had promptly and gallantly offered to see her home safely.) Lee wonders if Aidan will finally take the leap and ask her out on that taco date tonight. If he does, then Lee will inevitably hear about it first thing tomorrow, whether he shows an interest or not. 

For what it's worth, he wants nothing but good things for them - because one of the upsides to being in a happy relationship is that seeing other happy couples becomes a source of joy rather than envy - but the thought of bearing witness to his best friends playing tonsil hockey makes him feel just a tad nauseous, not least because in many ways he feels like an older brother to the both of them. 

Richard does not have that problem. "They'd make an attractive couple, wouldn't they?" he says as he comes up behind Lee, sliding his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. 

"Mmm, they'd be okay I guess," Lee agrees, only to teasingly add, "not as attractive as us, of course, but you've got to commend them for trying." 

Richard chuckles, and for a few moments they stand there leaning into one another without moving or speaking until Lee yawns (rather widely). "Sorry," he mumbles with an embarrassed grin. "Long day." 

Richard hums in agreement and gives his waist an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sure you're tired after all that." 

"Mmm." Lee cannot stop smiling as he closes his eyes and shifts a little more of his weight back against Richard's body. "Tired but fulfilled. And looking forward to going home and curling up in bed with you." 

Richard doesn't respond immediately, nuzzling the side of Lee's neck and leisurely brushing his lips along his hairline and the shell of his ear. The ministrations are tender and undemanding, but not so casual that Lee doesn't feel a small flutter of interest awakening in his belly, intensifying when Richard presses a more substantial kiss to one of the sweet spots on his neck. "Are you too tired for this?" he murmurs as his mouth slowly moves further down and Lee bends his head to the side instinctively so as to offer more of himself. He never fully appreciated just how sensitive his neck is until Richard showed him - and he generously continues to remind him every single day. 

"God, no," Lee sighs, practically purring as he melts into Richard's arms more with every kiss. "Never too tired for that." 

"Good." Richard continues showering his neck with kisses for several long, blissful moments before turning him around gently by the shoulders in a near-perfect replica of their lovely little make-out session in the bedroom earlier that day. This time, however, they are under no pressure to hurry or go anywhere, and Lee thoroughly savors the way Richard's hands move down his back to pull him closer by the hips as his mouth trails upward along his neck and jaw and finally finds Lee's. 

The kiss starts out slow, a gentle slide of lips that is somewhat at odds with the insistent way Richard's fingers press into Lee's waist. It is at Richard's initiative, too, that the kiss steadily deepens, the welcome heat of his body pressing into Lee's front as he takes advantage of the eager parting of Lee's lips to nudge his tongue into his mouth. It is only then that Lee suddenly remembers his hands, sliding them upwards along Richard's biceps and shoulders and clutching at the back of Richard's head as he moans at the hot press of Richard's tongue and surges into the kiss. As surprising as Richard's eagerness is, Lee can't say that he minds (or deny the fact that his body is playing catch-up at a staggeringly rapid pace). 

"My god, Rich," he murmurs, panting slightly as he pulls back to catch his breath and struggles briefly to focus his gaze. "What's got you so keen?" 

"You really don't know?" Smiling gently, Richard lifts one hand to Lee's face and brushes his bottom lip with his thumb before giving him another peck. "You thought that watching you take your shirt off a thousand times and pose like that would leave me unaffected? That it didn't make me stupidly proud and hard at the same time?" 

Richard's words fuel the smoldering embers of arousal low in Lee's belly, and an involuntary whimper escapes him as Richard angles his head down to kiss his neck again. "It did? Really? I was afraid you'd be bored today, having to hang around the shop for hours while I was busy." 

"Bored? Fuck no, not even for a second." Richard's mouth lingers in the crook of Lee's neck and Lee can hear him inhaling the scent of his skin in a long, savoring breath. "How could I be bored watching you? You're so amazing to watch when you're working, interacting with your clients. And the way you moved around on that set was such a turn on. It made me think all sorts of things I'd be embarrassed to share in therapy." 

Lee moans when he feels a gentle nip of teeth softened by the swipe of a tongue. "It can hardly be worse than what Fran's already wheedled out of us." 

"I'll let you be the judge of that." Richard takes Lee's hand and pulls him to the waiting area, never breaking eye contact as he does, and then draws him back into his arms for more leisurely kissing. "This is where we first met, remember?" 

Lee nods, rendered breathless by the adoring way Richard is gazing at him. Of course he remembers - as if he could forget how looking into those eyes for the first time had made him feel. 

Richard kisses him again, slowly and attentively, his fingers tracing the hem of Lee's T-shirt and curling around it. "May I?" 

Too dazed to be surprised, Lee nods mindlessly, raising his arms as Richard lifts the fabric and pulls it over his head. Once again Lee is standing with his torso bared, only this time it isn't for the camera's benefit. It is only Richard now, exactly as it should be, and his heated gaze burns tracks as it moves slowly across Lee's skin, his fingers following suit. 

"You're so beautiful, Lee," he murmurs. "I hadn't forgotten, of course, but that photo shoot really drove it home. The way Andy coaxed you out of your shell was so fucking amazing to see. Posing made you feel sexy, didn't it?" 

"It did a little bit, yeah," Lee admits with a grin. 

"It showed. Confidence becomes you, Lee. It made me really happy to see you like that." 

Lee feels his heart swell at the words, but he cannot help but tease, "I thought you just said it made you horny." 

"Yeah, that it did too." Richard lets his fingers stroke the leather of Lee's belt and linger at the buckle, their intent clear. "May I keep going? If you want, I'd like to do what we didn't have time for this afternoon." 

"What's that?" 

When Richard leans over to his ear and tells him, Lee's breath catches in his throat. "Right here?" he wavers, clutching to the last vestiges of common sense as Richard pushes him down onto the couch and sinks to his knees in front of him, fingers pulling at his belt buckle. 

"Why not here? Much more comfortable than that boxy bathroom, although I'm sure we could make do there, too." Richard chuckles at the scandalized look Lee gives him and pulls the zipper of his pants down slowly, eyes soft and earnest as he looks up to seek permission. "In all seriousness, Lee, I'll stop right now if you have any doubts. But it's a long way home and I really, really want to do this for you, no favors expected in return. Just say the word." 

Lee licks his lips and swallows, weaving slightly shaking fingers through Richard's hair as he gives the nod. "Yes," he croaks, knowing that Richard needs the verbal consent for as big a step as this. "Please." 

As Richard leans up to kiss him, his fingers make quick work of their task. In no time at all they have Lee's pants and briefs peeled down his hips and are wrapped around his cock, expertly teasing it to hardness. When he squeezes just below the head and circles the slit with his thumb, Lee gasps into his mouth and presses their foreheads together, moaning in frustration at the languid pace of Richard's movements. "God, Rich, I need it faster than that." 

"I've only just begun, Mr. Impatient." Richard kisses him on the mouth sweetly and starts working his way down from there, his hand never stopping its deft strokes as he blazes a steady trail of kisses along the length of Lee's neck and clavicle, lingering at one of his nipples before sliding lower. By the time Richard glances up at him from between his legs, seeking reassurance that Lee is still on board with what comes next, Lee aches for it so desperately that he has to bite his lip to keep a litany of pleas from pouring out. For a few moments they stare at each other, breathless, each acknowledging the significance of the moment. 

"You're sure?" Richard asks hoarsely, and Lee just nods, leaning back on his elbows as he watches Richard lean down over his cock and deliver the first long lick from the root all the way up the shaft. When he reaches the tip, his eyes flick up to Lee's face, and what he sees there must speak volumes, because instead of tormenting Lee with more foreplay he grasps the base of his cock and angles lower to take the head into his mouth in one smooth movement, eyes slipping closed as he does. It is this mental image - the thought of Richard going down on his cock, and loving every second of it - that has helped Lee get off more than once these past couple weeks, but this time he doesn't have to use his imagination or close his eyes to make the illusion more real. This time he keeps them wide open, afraid to blink and miss even one second of the spectacle unfolding right in front of him. 

Richard isn't the least bit rusty, in fact he seems even more attuned to Lee's needs than he was to begin with, and in less than a minute Lee lies arched back into the pillows panting and his fingers are curled into Richard's hair and his hips are thrusting erratically to match the rhythm as Richard sucks him like it's been years (well, it certainly felt like it at times). The pace he sets is smooth and firm, his wet mouth creating deliciously sinful sounds as it slides along Lee's length and drives him crazy with the occasional teasing flick of his tongue. He only comes up for air briefly, pressing yet more kisses to Lee's stomach and chest as his hand momentarily takes over to allow him to catch his breath, and once he does he resumes giving Lee the most exhilarating blow job he's had in a long time. 

Unfortunately, it becomes increasingly clear to Lee that it's also going to be an embarrassingly short one. Already he can feel it coming, his body gathering for that exquisite moment of release as the velvet heat and constant pressure of Richard's mouth - not to mention his unobstructed view of everything that's happening - propel him towards an earth-shattering end. 

"Richard," he whimpers, pulling at Richard's hair until he slides off him with a soft gasp, "Rich, wait." 

Richard's eyes uncross slowly as he struggles to focus, looking more than a little startled by Lee's urgency. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." Lee feels rather foolish seeing Richard's response - he could definitely have handled that better. "I just thought I should warn you that, um... I'm getting there faster than I would like." 

The worried frown on Richard's face is slowly replaced by a smile. "So?" 

Lee can feel his cheeks heating up, a rarity that has Richard's smile broadening further. "I just wasn't sure if-- we didn't really talk about--" 

"Love, there are some things that don't need to be said," Richard murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against Lee's cock. "Such as the fact that me sucking you off shouldn't end any other way than with you coming in my mouth and me swallowing every drop." He moves upward along the shaft and dips the tip of his tongue into the slit briefly before engulfing him once more and picking up where he left off. In a shamefully short time Lee is thrusting against the back of Richard's throat and crying out as he spills in one spine-tingling rush after another, until it's done and he slumps back into the pillows gasping and vaguely realizes that his hand is clenched in Richard's hair like a vise and Richard is gently sliding off him with a parting lick and a soft gulp that makes Lee's cock twitch weakly. 

"Fuck, that was amazing," Lee sighs once he's sufficiently recovered, looking down at Richard as he strokes his hair. "You give the best head I've ever had, you know that?" 

Richard, who is half kneeling on the floor, half sprawled atop Lee's body, gives a muffled chuckle. "I'm glad to hear it. Are you sure it's not just the fact that you haven't had any for a while that's making you say that, though?" 

"Oh yes, I'm sure." Lee smiles and drops his hand to Richard's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Come on, baby, let me zip up and take you home so I can reciprocate in the comfort of our own bed." 

At this, Richard looks up. "I told you, you don't have to. And maybe it's better to wait. After all, Fran says-" 

"Right at this moment, I don't give a flying fuck what Fran says." Lee traces Richard's jaw with his thumb. "All I know is that I want to go home, peel all your clothes off you and kiss you all over before I go down on you. I want to take my time, make you moan so loud and come so hard that the neighbors will look at us askance for weeks. So," he concludes, smiling when he sees how dark Richard's eyes have become while he spoke, and he leans in for a kiss that conveys a none too subtle promise, "feel free to mull that over on the way home."


	32. Hawk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how it happened, but somehow this chapter has ended up being over 9k long. Oops.
> 
> Content warning: there are some flashbacks in here that deal with sexual abuse/violence quite graphically and might be upsetting to read. This is honestly some of the most brutal stuff I've written to date, guys. Please proceed with caution.

Lee notices that Richard's hand is visibly shaking as he slides the key into the front door lock and that the simple task of opening the door takes more time and effort than usual, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that Lee has his hands on Richard's waist and is leaning into him from behind, attentively kissing the back of his neck. If it were him, he'd be distracted by that too - especially after a torturous subway ride that lasted as long as this one seemed to do.

Barely are they through the front door before Lee has Richard shoved up against a wall and is kissing him fiercely as he kicks the door shut behind them - without concern for the neighbors' sleep or the fact that it is past midnight - and works at pulling Richard's shirt out of his slacks with little finesse, desperate to get his hands under it. Nothing, absolutely nothing beats the feeling of Richard's warm skin under his hands and lips, and under more normal circumstances he would revel in the act of slowly peeling his clothes off him one piece at a time to bare every inch for thorough mapping and kissing.

But that takes some measure of patience and self-restraint, and at the moment he is utterly failing at summoning either. There are things he yearns to do to Richard before this night is over, and the journey home - sitting next to Richard with their thighs pressed together and their hands linked in Lee's lap, Richard's fingers giving his the occasional squeeze - has given him far too much time to ponder them, in minute and high-definition detail. Now that they are finally home, he can't think of anything more urgent than getting Richard out of his clothes and into bed as fast as humanly possible. His fingers are feverishly working their way down the row of buttons at the front of Richard's shirt when Richard suddenly stops him and meets his eyes, their breathing loud in the otherwise quiet apartment as they stare at each other.

"Lee." His voice is throaty and low, and even in the semi-dark of the hallway Lee can see his pulse jumping rapidly in his neck. "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Lee's mouth curls into a smile. "If by 'this' you mean stripping you naked and taking you down my throat until you're crying out my name, then yes, I am sure. I have every intention of keeping all those promises I made to you back at the shop." He lets his fingers idly wander down Richard's chest and leans in to trace his jaw with his lips. "If you'll let me."

Richard's eyes slide closed as Lee dips lower to kiss his neck. "I just thought... you said you wanted to take it slow. Not that I'm objecting to any of this, mind you, but-"

"No, you're right. I did say that." Lee gives him an apologetic grin and a peck on the lips. "Sorry. Momentary lapse in self-control."

"Don't I know the feeling."

"Come on, then." Lee takes Richard's hands and pulls him into the living room and straight through to the bedroom, although progress is slow due to them getting distracted by each other and stopping several times to make out like drunk teenagers on prom night (never mind the fact that they're both in their mid to late thirties and haven't had a drop of alcohol all night). By the time they stumble into the bedroom, Richard's shirt has been left on the floor somewhere, and in the few steps it takes for them to reach the bed - thank god they cleared away all of Lee's clothes before leaving the apartment earlier that day - Lee even finds the time to open Richard's belt and unzip his slacks. However, he fends off all of Richard's attempts at reciprocating, smiling at the protesting noises Richard makes in response. "Don't worry, baby, you'll get your chance yet."

Lee backs Richard up against the bed and kisses him, languidly and deeply, while making no haste easing Richard's slacks down his hips. "Is this more how you were imagining it?" he asks teasingly. "Nice and slow - just like I promised." To make good on his words, he devotes a minute or two to mapping every inch of Richard's stomach and chest with attention, visiting all those familiar, much-loved vales and ridges that fit his hands to perfection and feeling a sense of accomplishment at seeing the tracks of gooseflesh his fingers leave behind on Richard's skin. It is a while before he manages to tear his eyes away from the mesmerizing sight, but when he finally looks up, he finds Richard watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing deep and even, too relaxed to do anything but let Lee push him back onto the bed and peel his trousers down the rest of the way. Before Lee can get rid of them entirely, however, there is a squeaky new pair of sneakers - more precisely, some problematically knotted laces - to deal with. He eyes them worriedly for a moment, wondering how best to tackle the knots standing between him and his goal.

"Sorry," Richard sighs. He is leaning on his elbows and offers Lee an apologetic look as he struggles with the ties. "The shoes are always such a mood killer."

"Baby, if you think I'm letting a pair of contrary laces get in my way, think again." Lee eventually manages to loosen the ties enough that he can pull the shoes off none too elegantly. In his enthusiasm he flings them halfway across the room, flinching slightly when one of them almost knocks over Richard's - rather valuable - Swedish design lamp. "Oops."

"Never mind, it's sturdier than it looks." Richard lifts one of his legs and tickles Lee's belly with his toes. "Socks too."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting to them." Laughing, Lee grabs Richard's ankle and angles his foot away. Richard is very particular about wearing socks to bed, or rather, _not_ wearing socks to bed, insisting that sex and socks don't go together. Lee doesn't necessarily share that opinion - in fact, Richard could fuck him wearing fishnets for all he cares - but he wants Richard to feel comfortable, so off come the socks and the slacks, leaving only the briefs to keep Richard's modesty intact (although but by a thread). He is obviously hard, the prominent outline of his cock like a magnet to Lee's eyes as he makes quick work of his own trusty Converse sneakers and socks before crawling barefoot on top of the bed (and, more importantly, Richard).

Richard protests the glaring inequality of the situation with a discontented groan. "Lee, that's hardly fair. Look at how much you're still wearing, for Christ's sake."

"Shush." Lee touches his forefinger to Richard's lips briefly and sits back to survey his prize - the long-limbed, well-built, mostly naked man sprawled between his legs. "Like I said, all in good time."

Richard gives him a dolorous look. "You're planning to make me suffer, aren't you?"

"I'm planning to make you beg. There's a difference." Lee pitches forward and braces his hands on either side of Richard's head, smiling down at him for a moment or two before dipping lower and brushing his mouth against his. Richard responds immediately, eagerly pressing up into him in a bid for more contact, but when he attempts to pull Lee closer, Lee takes his wrists and pulls his arms up above his head, smirking down at him. "No, no," he admonishes, "not until I say so."

"Lee," Richard whines (and the way he stretches out the name can't be described as anything but petulant), "need I point out that I've had to watch you all day without being able to touch you? Don't tell me I still don't get to do anything but watch."

"You get to feel, and enjoy." Keeping Richard's wrists pinned down, Lee lowers himself slowly, teasing him with a brief but very precise grind of his hips and watching his mouth fall open on a soft, choked-off gasp as his head lolls back into the pillow. Confronted with the tempting sight of Richard's exposed throat, Lee can't resist leaning down and blazing a wet trail up along its length, loving the rough, raspy scratch of Richard's stubble against his tongue. "You're so goddamn sexy, Rich," he breathes, nipping at Richard's jaw and the lobe of his ear and relishing the noticeable shudder the candid compliment elicits. "When are you finally going to clue me in on this tattoo you're planning to get for your birthday? Because unless the plans have changed, it's getting close to the wire."

"Don't remind me."

Lee leans up to take in Richard's pained expression. "Hey, don't give me that self-piteous crap. Life doesn't stop at forty. In fact, I remember reading somewhere that most men don't reach their sexual peak until their forties and fifties, so I daresay we have a lot to look forward to." With a salacious grin, he swivels his hips once more for emphasis, and while he avoids direct contact between their cocks, he makes sure Richard feels enough to know that he too is hard. "I want you to keep your hands above your head like this," he instructs, loosening his grip on Richard's wrists before releasing them altogether. "Grab hold of the headboard if that makes it easier. Can you do that for me?"

Richard nods and wets his lips before replying hoarsely, "If that's what you want, Lee, of course I can."

"Thank you." Lee gives him a grateful peck on the mouth (although the fact that it lingers for quite a while immediately disqualifies it as a mere peck) before sitting up and taking another moment to survey the territory he's about to explore, wondering where to begin - only to come to the pleasing conclusion that there is no wrong answer to that question.

Once Lee sets out to make good on his promise to kiss and lick Richard all over, it soon becomes apparent that Richard is struggling with Lee's instructions to remain passive more than he may have anticipated (judging by the way he goes from simply lying prostrate with his hands above his head to gripping the pillow to having his fingers curled white-knuckled around the bars of the headboard in the space of less than two minutes). By the time Lee loops around his bellybutton with his tongue, having spent an inordinate amount of time working his way down his neck (getting sidetracked at the clavicle for a bit), chest (where he circled each nipple and sucked on them languorously before leaving them pinked up and stiff and raw) and stomach, Richard is presenting a positively sinful sight with his head tipped back and his chest flushed and every muscle in his torso straining like that. Lee takes a moment to gaze at him appreciatively before picking up the trail that leads further south. Richard chokes back a gasp and arches up from the mattress, squirming as Lee's tongue makes a steady descent down the center of his belly, inching inexorably closer to the part of him that craves its attentions the most.

And then, just when he's about to reach the waistband of Richard's briefs, Lee does the very thing Richard - in a steady stream of urgent whispers - has been begging him not to.

He stops. Abruptly and unapologetically, despite knowing that if the roles were reversed - if it were him writhing and twisting sinuously on the bed after such a prolonged buildup - he'd be cursing Richard to high heaven for this wickedness.

And he is sure that one day (possibly quite soon) Richard will make him repay it in full.

"Christ, Lee," Richard groans. He lifts his hips up and lets them fall back to the bed uselessly. "You can't be serious. You can't stop there, come on."

"I just realized we're forgetting something." With a smile, Lee sits up and resumes his position straddling Richard's thighs before slowly, semi-thoughtlessly running his fingers down his chest. "Do you remember what you asked me the first time I did this?"

Richard blinks up at him, drawing a blank for a moment or two before it dawns on him, and his eyes soften at the memory. "I asked you to take your T-shirt off. And I didn't quite understand what a momentous thing I was asking until I saw the startled look you gave me."

"So you noticed that, huh?"

"Of course I noticed. The fear was written all over your face." Richard smiles gently. "I'll tell you what, though. The fact that you trusted me enough to let me look at you despite that - I think that made me fall in love with you even deeper."

Lee beams at him, profoundly moved by the spontaneous confession, and he can't resist leaning down for an equally spontaneous kiss. "So," he teases, shifting in Richard's lap ever so slightly to make sure he hasn't lost interest (he hasn't), "aren't you going to ask me this time?"

"Lee," Richard sighs, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "Will you please take off your shirt so that even if I can't touch you, I can at least look at you?"

"Sure I will, baby." Sitting up straight and graceful, his eyes never leaving Richard's, Lee starts peeling his T-shirt off the way he had for the camera earlier - at a deliberately glacial speed and at an angle that sets off the beauty of the phoenix emerging from under the fabric to full advantage - only this time, he has an audience of just one, the way he prefers it. And he can tell by the look on Richard's face that it is by far his favorite performance of the day, too.

Lee would be lying if he said that being looked at like that by a man - by _this_ man - isn't an incredible turn on.

"Fuck, Lee," Richard sighs. He has propped himself up on his elbows to watch, eyes sliding over Lee's torso as Lee tosses the shirt away (and surreptitiously runs a hand through his hair to smooth it back down). "You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but I still get breathless every time you take your clothes off in front of me, whether you're making a show of it or not."

"Hmm. You sure seem to enjoy the shows, though." To even things out between them, Lee strips himself of his pants as well and then slithers down to bring his face level with Richard's crotch, looking pointedly from the telltale bulge in his briefs to Richard's face. "Did watching me on set today affect you this way, too?"

Richard makes a face. "Lee, this has pretty much been the state of things all bloody day. Between that little make-out session right before we left, the things you said on the subway on the way over and the photo shoot - I've spent most of the day horny as hell and contemplating ways to release the pressure. I came this close to giving in and taking care of things in the bathroom myself."

"Well, you could have done that," Lee says as he noses along the waistband of Richard's briefs for a moment before sliding his fingers underneath it and tugging slightly. "But I can promise you that it wouldn't have felt half as good as this."

He can sense Richard holding his breath as he pulls his briefs down just far enough to reveal what he's after, looking up to find two slightly widened eyes staring down at him intently. Not breaking eye contact, he ever so lightly runs the tip of his finger down the length of Richard's hard cock and watches his lips part at the touch, his tongue darting across them briefly. It isn't until he repeats the movement in the opposite direction that the air in Richard's lungs escapes, riding out on a groan as he lets his head drop back slightly. "No kidding," Richard grits out, "I'd be hard-pressed to name anything that feels remotely as good as this."

"Oh, I seem to remember a back rub or two that seemed to make you pretty happy at the time," Lee teases, not surprised that Richard reacts to the simple touch as strongly as he does. "And I'm sure you could think of something else if you used your imagination."

Richard's response comes through gnashing teeth. "Trust me, using my imagination is what got me into this predicament in the first place."

Richard doesn't need to elaborate on these words - the heat smoldering in his half-lidded gaze tells Lee exactly what he's thinking of. And while Lee knows they aren't there yet - it hasn't even been two full weeks since they started taking it further than cuddling and the occasional kiss, after all - for a few reckless moments he allows himself to consider just how amazing it would be. After all, the last time they’d had sex – the last time it was good and carefree, before everything fell to pieces – had been nothing short of spectacular.

Richard had come home from the theatre that night looking more like Theo than himself, his eyes distant and his shoulders bent under the weight of another man's burden, one he usually left behind on stage or in the dressing room. For any actor - especially an immersive one like Richard, who forgot he was playing a character from the moment the lights dimmed - living another person's woes night after night could become very mentally draining, and Lee could see where things stood the second Richard came trudging into the room and dropped his bag with a dull thud. Lee hadn't questioned him, but instead let him head straight into the bedroom, where he'd shut himself away for thirty long, very quiet minutes. When he finally re-emerged, Lee was settled in front of the TV, eating ice cream straight from the tub and pretending not to be worried. Richard had joined him on the couch without a word and they finished the ice cream together, Lee feeding him spoonfuls and scraping the insides of the tub clean until there was nothing left. Only then did Richard start talking about the performance, trying to put his finger on why it had followed him home this time, and talking led to cuddling and cuddling led to making out and before Lee could form a coherent thought Richard was pulling him to the bedroom. There, standing next to the bed, he'd proceeded to slowly take all of Lee's clothes off and run his fingers over his skin as if he were trying to memorize every inch of him. And then he'd broken out the lube and pulled one of Lee's legs up over his hip and fingered him open while Lee hung against him gasping, coming further apart with every twist of Richard's fingers inside him and wondering incoherently what was keeping him upright, because it sure as hell wasn't his buckling knees.

It was a relief when Richard finally guided him down onto the bed and prepared himself before joining him there, easing himself between Lee's parted legs, kissing him and loving him with his hands and making him wait a tortuously long time before finally pushing in. Lee still remembers vividly the look on Richard's face as he entered him and the things he'd said as they built up a rhythm together, Lee curled up on his back like he hadn't known he was still capable of. They hadn't finished like that, though - because Richard had other ideas, and they involved Lee rocking in his lap urgently, the fingers of one hand tangled in his hair and the other arm wrapped around his shoulders like a vise. They also involved a great deal of kissing, the kind that left Lee lightheaded not only from a lack of oxygen but the insistent push of Richard's tongue against his.

Richard never stopped touching him, rarely even broke eye contact except to litter Lee's shoulders, throat and neck with kisses in an ardent display of affection that fueled Lee's need for an even faster pace, and so he alternately pushed himself into Richard's hand and down onto his cock in a frenzied, unapologetic pursuit of a climax that he was sure was going to knock him out for the rest of the night (and possibly part of the next day as well). Almost inevitably, he got there before Richard did, but this too appeared to have been part of Richard's plan, as he patiently held and stroked Lee through his orgasm and waited for him to catch his breath, gazing at him as if he were carefully memorizing every detail, every nuance of his face as it crumpled in the throes of ecstasy. Only when Lee's body went limp did Richard gently roll him over and finish with a few deep, languid thrusts and a grated-out whisper of Lee's name. And Lee did the same thing Richard had done earlier and watched his face as he came, registering every twitch of muscle and tendon and feeling his heart swell to bursting at the wonder and the beauty of it all.

In hindsight, it was almost as if they had known it was all about to fall apart - that they were making a memory that would have to last them a while - and Lee can't help but wonder how many times Richard has thought back of that night over the course of the past two months and which moments he has relived the most. But he shakes these thoughts off for now and shifts his focus back to the present moment and the very corporeal man spread out in front of him, who is very clearly aroused and waiting for Lee to do something about it.

"Keep your hands up there?" Lee's voice lilting up a little at the end makes it sound like a question rather than a request, and he tacks on an apologetic smile for good measure, because he realizes that he is asking quite a lot from Richard in terms of patience and self-restraint. If it were him, he'd probably be protesting a lot more than Richard is. "At least for now, okay?"

"Uhuh." The response comes somewhat strangled, and it trails off into a soft gasp as Lee spreads Richard's legs and makes himself comfortable between them, eyeing Richard's cock where it lies against his belly, hard and ruddy and already a little moist at the tip. The sight makes Lee's jaw ache in anticipation, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment to force out all thought of the other places on his body that are desperately yearning for that cock. What he is about to do is just for Richard, and he won't allow himself to forget it.

"Lee, please," Richard croaks, not understanding the delay, and it is this earnest little plea that prompts Lee to lean down and drag the flat of his tongue up the length of Richard's cock in one long, savoring lick. Richard's hips jerk off the bed in response and his head drops back into the pillow, the harsh guttural sound escaping his throat a clear indication of how much longing he's been keeping bottled up inside.

So Lee decides to pick up the pace a little bit.

Keeping his touch deliberately light, he angles Richard's cock up with his fingers before dipping his head low between Richard's thighs and continuing to tongue him lazily, slowly moving all the way up this time to include the ridge and finally the very tip. "Look at me, Rich," he murmurs, waiting for Richard to lift up his head and focus his bleary gaze on him before delicately lapping up the pearly, stringy drop of liquid beading at the slit. The instantly familiar saltiness of it in his mouth leaves him craving more - a sentiment that is shared by Richard, if the needy moan he gives is any indication - and with a last mischievous look in his direction Lee opens his mouth and leans down to start taking him in.

After all that drawn-out foreplay, this sudden acceleration seems to take Richard by surprise, and he lets out a ringing expletive, his hips twitching up and the headboard of the bed giving a worrying rattling noise as he yanks at the bars a little too vigorously. "Oh fuck, Lee, more."

And Lee gives him more, although it takes a few practice bobs of his head before he feels comfortable enough to sink further than halfway down, and once he does he lets go of Richard's cock and shifts his hand to his hip instead.

Relieved to find that he is able to pick up the skill again quite effortlessly, Lee sets a languid but deliberate pace, varying the length of his strokes to keep things interesting and relishing the sounds Richard makes in response to the little licks and flicks of his tongue. He remembers exactly what Richard likes and uses all the tricks that have proven effective before, focusing on his breathing to draw things out as long as possible before the need for air becomes a problem. Only when his lungs start to burn does he slide off for a breather and raise his head to survey the results of his hard work.

And oh, they are satisfying. Richard has long since given up on watching, his head thrown back into the pillow and the muscles in his arms straining with the effort of gripping the headboard. His breathing is harsh and erratic, his chest rising and falling rapidly as deep gasps and groans rush out of him with every exhalation. "Lee," he whimpers, "don't do this, you can't stop, come on-"

"Rich," Lee tells him softly, "you can touch me now, if you want. I need to feel your hands on me."

At this, Richard lifts up his head (which appears to take some effort) and for a few long moments they hold each other's gazes, Richard's questioning and Lee's affirming. He knows he does not have to spell out what Richard can and cannot do - after reading the journals and their dialoguing and clocking all those hours in therapy Richard already knows Lee's triggers, some of them more intimately than either of them would like.

All Lee has to do is trust him.

"Touch me," he gently urges, keeping his eyes steady on Richard's as he finally lets go of the bars behind his head and brings his hands down (flexing his fingers to get the blood in them flowing again). He finds Lee's left hand where it is braced on the bed and gives it a brief squeeze (of reassurance, it seems) before winding their fingers together. With the other hand he touches Lee's shoulder, tracing the clavicle with his fingers and stopping at the soft hollow of his throat, a slight press to Lee's pulse point, and damn if his pulse isn't racing. Lee swallows reflexively and has to make a conscious effort to tear his gaze away from the heat and affection in Richard's eyes and force his attention back to the matter at hand (figuratively speaking).

Once he picks up where he left off, easily establishing the same rhythm as before, Lee swiftly concludes that having Richard touch him while he slowly comes apart under his mouth is vastly more enjoyable than the alternative. While one of his hands is still linked with Lee's on top of the covers, the other is blindly mapping Lee's shoulders and traveling between all his favorite tattoos (the ones he can reach, that is) before settling on Lee's bobbing head, restlessly moving through his hair, alternating between gentle strokes and twitchy little pulls, fingers tangling in its length. Although his fingertips dig into Lee's scalp involuntarily every time he does something particularly torturous with his tongue, he avoids touching the back of Lee's neck for any prolonged period of time or with the slightest amount of force, which allows Lee to focus on the task he set out to achieve - to make Richard lose his mind - without unwanted distractions.

And achieve it he does, as before long Richard is positively writhing on the bed, his fingers clenching around Lee's ever more erratically and his gasps and moans rising in volume and the use of Lee's name increasing (always a clear indication of just how far gone he is, and damn if Lee doesn't love how his name sounds when Richard says it in the throes of passion).

"Lee - god - yes - please, Lee - suck me harder, oh _fuck_ -"

Richard's torso rises up from the bed when Lee shifts into a higher gear, taking him deeper and working his mouth and throat in a way that makes Richard's spine bend into an exaggerated arch. Richard's enraptured responses are intoxicating, and Lee makes a muffled humming sound as he soothingly strokes Richard's hip with his free hand, tracing the curve of the bone with his fingers. His lungs are screaming for a proper breath of air, but the time for breaks has come and gone - the only thing that matters now is the soaring climax Richard is hurtling towards.

Richard can't maintain his half-upright position and flops back into the pillow, his fingers scraping Lee's scalp and twitching in his hair as if struggling with the need to press him down and control the pace. At this point, Lee is fairly sure he wouldn't give a shit.

"Close," Richard gasps, "so close, Lee, god, just like that, darling, ah-"

As always, the use of Lee's favorite term of endearment - which only slips out in private, unguarded moments like these - sends a jolt of delight up Lee's spine, and he moans long and deep, his fingers curving around Richard's hipbone to keep him immobile as he moves his head faster in the knowledge that these smooth, precise strokes will send Richard careening over the edge in a matter of moments, especially once Lee curls his tongue in that specific way that always makes Richard's legs go weak.

To be sure, Richard is drawing his knees up to dig his heels into the mattress, his spine slowly arching off the bed and his chest aglow with a sinful film of perspiration that only appears when he's been pushed to the limits of what he can endure. The way he babbles suggests the same - a steady stream of disjointed, mostly monosyllabic encouragements pouring mindlessly out of his mouth. "Lee - ah - fuck - so close - so good - baby - please, just - let me - ah - there - Lee, oh god - I'm g-gonna-"

Lee feels it happening - it starts with the violent shudder that races along Richard's spine, the clenching of his stomach and the uncontrolled jerking of his body as it is wracked by one spasm after another, and then that first triumphant rush of warmth flooding into Lee's mouth, accompanied by a single, drawn-out gasp bursting from Richard's throat. Lee keeps completely still - with the exception of his fingers as they gently caress Richard's hip and side, and the slight bob of his throat as he attentively swallows everything Richard has to give. Once the convulsions have ceased and Lee slides off, somewhat regretfully but feeling more than a little pleased with his accomplishment, Richard reaches out sluggishly to pull him into his arms for a lazy, slightly sloppy but intensely lovely kiss that barely gives Lee's air-deprived lungs time to recuperate.

It isn't until quite a few minutes later - when they're curled together on top of the sheets, too flushed and tuckered out from their activities to worry about covering up - that Richard makes the offer, just as Lee expected he might. "Lee, if there is anything you want me to do for you-"

"Don't worry about that," Lee tells him, reinforcing his answer with a kiss. "We're even now."

"Hmm, I'm not so sure about that. What I did at the shop pales in comparison to this." Richard kisses him back fondly. "That was, hands down, the most unbelievable blow job I've ever had."

Lee smiles. "I hope you mean unbelievably good rather than unbelievably awful."

"You're joking, right?" Richard pinches him reproachfully. "I'd say that was glaringly obvious."

"Hmm, yeah, the moaning and the begging were a bit of a giveaway, now that you mention it."

"I'm serious, Lee. You're amazing, and what you just did was amazing, and I could very easily keep you up all night gushing about it, but at the same time, I hope you know that the fantastic sex is not the reason I'm here. Not the only reason, I mean, nor the most important one. All the other ways of being intimate we've explored this past month and a half have been just as valuable and special to me. In fact, I think everything we've gone through has only helped me feel closer to you. And as sorry as I am that it happened, I think it's made us stronger in the end."

"I think so too."

Richard tightens his arms around him briefly. "So... are you happy with where we're at and where we're heading? Because all I want is for you to be comfortable, Lee, and if that means no sex for another few weeks or months or a year, then I'm completely fine with that. Sex or no sex, I want you to know I'm not going anywhere."

"I know that, baby, but I appreciate the reminder all the same." Lee nuzzles into the crook of Richard's shoulder blissfully. "And don't worry - I'm extremely happy with where we're going, and with the speed at which we're getting there."

"You are?"

"Hm-mmm. Definitely. And with the way I'm feeling now, I think it's safe to say that it won't be a year before we can give the sex another try. In fact, I think it might be a lot sooner."

"In that case..." Richard clears his throat, and Lee detects a hint of nervousness that has crept into his tone. "There is something I wanted to ask you about. But," he quickly adds, "it can wait if you'd rather go to sleep. You've had a tiring day and it's getting pretty late."

"It's a good thing we can sleep in, then." Somehow, Lee thinks he has a fairly good idea of the conversation Richard wants to have - it's been a while coming. "Tell me."

"I don't want to make you upset."

"You won't, Rich, I promise."

Richard pulls his briefs back up, obviously stalling, but once he's all tucked back in (and after some very obvious attempts at distracting Lee with kisses), he finally comes out with it. "A couple of months back, you mentioned something you said you wanted to try - but it was in the, uh, heat of the moment so you may not have been serious. You probably don't even remember what I'm talking about."

Richard's sudden timidity is endearing - especially given how explicitly vocal he was just a few short minutes ago - but Lee has never had much trouble articulating these things. "If you're referring to that time I said we should get tested so you could fuck me without a condom," he says, smiling as he rolls onto his side to gaze at Richard properly, "yes, I remember that. And it seemed to pique your interest at the time, so I've been wondering how long it would take for you to bring it up again."

"For a long time I wasn't sure if I should. I didn't know if it was something you really wanted or just let slip accidentally, especially given what you experienced with Eric. But now that we're moving forward and slowly getting things back on track, I- I just feel like we should talk about this beforehand. Because if there is any chance that having unprotected sex would trigger memories for you, we should put the idea to rest right here and now. It's not worth risking our relationship and your wellbeing for, Lee. I mean, it's never a step to be taken lightly, but even less so with your history, and I want you to think about it very carefully before deciding anything. There is no rush, okay? No pressure from my end whatsoever."

Lee sighs and articulates his answer carefully. "I've been thinking about it too, actually, not only because I was expecting it to come up sooner or later, but because I can't get the idea out of my head. And the more I think about it, the surer I am that it's something I want to try with you someday."

"You are?" Richard looks doubtful, understandably so. After all, Lee hasn't always been the best at knowing his triggers and avoiding them in the past, which has led them to where they are today. The last time they had sex, Lee's reaction took them both completely by surprise, and that was devastating enough - it's a different matter going into something with their eyes wide open, in the knowledge that the experience could be incredibly traumatic for him and potentially ruin everything they've been working towards.

And yet despite this, despite all of these rational, very sensible objections, Lee cannot deny that the thought of it makes something flutter in his chest, sparks a tiny, pulsing core of heat that settles in the pit of his stomach as he closes his eyes for a moment and allows himself to reflect on how it would feel to do that with the man he loves.

(And his mind has surprisingly little trouble providing images of how Richard would respond to it - the feeling of fucking Lee without that latex barrier between them urging him into an ever more frenzied pace - and how utterly wrecked he would look right towards the end, an overwhelmed expression on his face and his mouth open as he came in Lee moaning his name.)

Past experiences or not, he longs for that kind of connection - he longs for it so desperately that it hurts. It does not feel wrong or even reckless to him, because after all, is it such a bad thing to hope that by making happy new memories with Richard, the old ones will be replaced and stripped of any power they may still hold over him?

"Yeah. I am." When he opens his eyes again, he meets Richard's gaze without hesitation. "Do you remember when I told Fran that being with you makes me want to try things I didn't feel comfortable doing with Luke or my other boyfriends? I meant that."

Richard traces Lee's jaw with his thumb as he ponders these words. "So... you and Luke never-"

Lee shakes his head. "He started asking a few months into our relationship. I hadn't told him about Eric at that point and held him off with excuses for a while, but I got so tired of his nagging eventually that I saw no other option but to tell him the truth."

"How'd he react?"

Lee shrugs. "Grew a bit pale, as far as I recall - harrumphed and muttered an apology and didn't bring it up again after that, although occasionally he'd get home from the club intoxicated and horny and have a little whine about how much better it would feel without a condom. That was mostly him being petulant, though, not trying to change my mind. He isn't a total bastard, you know. I think deep down he wanted to be supportive, but the subject made him uncomfortable and he was just too much of a bloke to know how to talk to me about it."

"I don't think you would have been with him for so long if he was a bastard, Lee. Whether he was the right guy for you, though, is a different matter."

Lee nods in agreement. "My point is, at no stage in our relationship was I the least bit tempted to try it. Whether it was Luke, or me, or the timing, I haven't a clue. I just know that I want to feel close to you in a way that I never did with him, or with anyone, and that I don’t want memories of Eric to hold us back any more than they already have when it comes to experimenting and making each other feel good in bed. I love you and I trust you," - he pauses at this point to kiss away Richard's guilty frown, because after all this time Richard still blames himself for how things had gone so horribly wrong -, "and I know that in the right circumstances, with the right person, it can be an incredibly intimate experience."

Richard still looks unconvinced. "I just can’t help but worry that while you like the idea in theory, it could be awful in practice. That as much as you think you want it and are prepared for it, something will happen that makes you think of him and freaks you out and then we’ll be right back where we started. Or worse, because last time at least we could stop before-" His mouth twitches and he doesn't finish, prompting another reassuring kiss from Lee.

"Look, I’m not going to pretend I don't share your concerns, and it’s not something I want to put a time frame on. We could work towards it slowly, step by step – and it might be a good idea to talk about it with Fran, if you’re comfortable with that. But what I don't want you to do is worry about a repeat of last time. Because if we do end up taking that step, it will be on our terms, and because we both want it. Because we have a choice. And whichever way you look at it, that is a victory in itself, isn't it? I sure as hell didn't have a choice with Eric, but I do now." Stating this simple fact gives him a tremendous sense of empowerment that feels incredibly liberating. "So you see, it will never be exactly as it was back then. In fact, it won't even remotely be reminiscent of it, because I'm choosing this time. I'm _choosing_ , Rich."

Lee could swear that Richard's eyes have a suspiciously bright film over them as he pulls Lee close and hugs the wind right out of him. "I'm so grateful, Lee," he says in a strangled voice, "so grateful and proud that you walked out of that house and that bastard's life when you did. It destroys me to think of what might have happened to you if you hadn't overheard that phone call."

_The phone call._

It was a detail from Lee's past Richard had been unaware of until fairly recently, in no small part because Lee's subconscious had done a pretty effective job of blocking the memory and it had taken some insistent prodding from Fran to make it resurface after years of lying dormant in his mind.

One day in therapy, Fran had had Lee talking about triggers - things Eric had said and done that Richard would have to take into account when being intimate with Lee in the future - and it had taken the better part of the hour to cover them all, because holding Lee down by the scruff of his neck was only one of the tools Eric used to exert power.

There was the way Eric would pin his arms down or wrench them behind his back while he fucked him, so forcefully that they were completely numb by the time he was done.

There was the way he sometimes liked to pull out right before the very end and come over Lee's back as if to assert his dominance and mark him as his property. (More commonly, though, he enjoyed shooting his load inside him, bruising his ass with his fingers and continuing to ride him idly until his cock finally went soft and slipped out. In both cases, he would refuse to let Lee go and clean up afterwards, cuddling him instead and forcing him to endure the feeling of his come inside him or on his skin.)

There was also the way Eric used to grab Lee's hair sometimes and pull it, or cruelly pinch or slap his ass during sex to get some kind of verbal reaction out of him, because defiant silence was one of the few tools Lee had at his disposal to maintain a shred of dignity in the situation he was in. He always tried to remain as still and silent as possible so as not to create any additional incitement, having learned that his struggling and moans of discomfort only served to get Eric more riled up and violent.

Lee had experienced just how unpredictable Eric's violent streak was when he'd neglected to get himself clean one night before bed, in the hope that it would be a deterrent. But when Eric discovered it, he'd marched Lee into the bedroom - although the shorter man, he had the bulk that Lee did not and therefore the physical advantage - and made him get clean while he looked on. It was the single most humiliating experience of Lee's life thus far, and when he was done Eric had spun him around and roughly shoved him against the sink.

"I've been very good to you, Roy," he said as he reached for a bottle of moisturizer that happened to be within reach and squirted some into his hand to put on his cock. "I make long days earning the money that pays for your food and precious pills, and I don't ask for a lot in return for my generosity - just a little affection and a clean ass. So this is very disappointing. You're disrespecting me, Roy, and I don't like that." He pressed the bottle into Lee's hand. "Get yourself ready."

The moisturizer was wholly inadequate, but Lee knew that objecting would only serve to make things that much more unpleasant - he supposed he was lucky Eric was letting him prepare at all. So he slicked up as best he could and pushed a reluctant finger in while Eric stood behind him palming his cock impatiently. "No stalling," he growled. "Or would you rather I did it for you?"

Once Eric felt he had given Lee enough time, he stepped in and replaced Lee's fingers with his cock, shoving it in brutally and tearing a pained gasp from Lee's mouth in the process.

"Perhaps this will teach you not to play games with me," he panted, spreading Lee's cheeks with his hands as he pushed in deep on the first thrust. "You're in my house, you play by my rules, and that means I'll have you whenever and however I want you, you get that? I took you in and I can kick you out just as easily, don't ever forget that. The streets are crawling with tweaked out little twinks like you, so you wouldn't be hard to replace."

Lee gritted his teeth as he braced himself on the cold, hard sink, accidentally catching a glimpse of his contorted face in the mirror in front of him and swiveling his head away to avoid being confronted with that hateful sight. But Eric picked up on it and grabbed his hair, forcing him closer to the mirror so he was face to face with his own reflection. His thrusts came hard and sharp, the moisturizer not doing much at all to help ease Lee's discomfort. But worse than the chafing and the burn and the feeling of complete humiliation was the sight of his own face in the mirror, pale and sunken and so distorted that his own mother would not have recognized him. But he couldn't have looked away now even if Eric had let him.

Afterwards, Eric had transformed back into his usual post-orgasmic sweet self. "You understand why I had to do that, don't you?" he murmured as he kissed Lee's shoulder. "I don't like punishing you, my sweet boy, but you were being very ungrateful. Just be good to me, and I'll be good to you." With that he pulled out, Lee unable to suppress a whimper at the movement. He felt soiled, dirty, and utterly disgusted with himself.

"Clean up," Eric instructed, with a last possessive squeeze of Lee's ass, "and then come to bed." And then he had walked out, leaving Lee to stare at his reflection and wonder when he last looked in the mirror and saw someone other than Roy.

"Lee," he breathed forlornly, so softly that he was sure Eric would not hear. "Your name is Lee, and this is not where you're supposed to be."

However, the confrontation with the mirror - as sickening as it had been - was not what gave him the final push.

One afternoon in late autumn, a few weeks after the bathroom incident, Lee woke up from a drug-induced stupor and sat up groggily to rub his eyes and move the blood-deprived left arm on which he'd been sleeping. As he was doing this, he caught snippets of a phone conversation Eric appeared to be having in the next room. Hung-over and sluggish as he was, he didn't pay much attention to it at first, but when he heard his name mentioned, his ears pricked up reflexively.

"So, next week then?" he heard Eric ask whomever he was talking to. "Quite a bit later than I would have liked, but if the quality is on par with last time, I guess I'll let it slide. Yeah, of course I'll have the money all sorted. Don't I always come through?"

For all his mocking of Lee's drug habit, Eric was a casual cocaine user himself, although he prided himself in being able to go for weeks without touching the stuff. He always had a little stash ready to go, which he kept under lock and key, but when he was high and in a particularly good mood (two things that usually coincided), he occasionally let Lee put a tiny amount on his tongue before hoisting him up on hands and knees and fucking him roughly. Lee concluded that the person on the other end of the line was his supplier, although they seemed quite friendly with one another.

"And as an added bonus I'll introduce you to my little friend, how's that?" Eric chuckled. "Well, he's not so little, actually, all limbs and very little meat on him, but he has other assets I think you'll appreciate. If you like him, I'll let you have a little go with him yourself, as a token of my appreciation." A brief silence. "Oh yeah, I'm sure he could entertain us both at the same time. If you give him some drugs first, he might even enjoy himself. His sweet little ass is mine, though, let's be clear on that. But he's got a nice accommodating throat that you can do with as you please, and he'll swallow when you don't give him a choice."

Bizarrely, it was this - finding out that Eric was apparently starting to get bored with him and with the grotesque marital act he'd been putting on, and that he had no qualms about sharing Lee with his buddies - that had made Lee realize it was time to leave Roy Walker behind for good.

That night he lay wide awake, listening to Eric's guttural snoring and fighting back the urge to tiptoe into the kitchen, grab a knife and slit Eric's throat. It seemed like that night would never end, but eventually it did, and after Eric had left for work, Lee had packed up as many clothes and supplies of food and drugs as he could carry, meticulously scraped together all the cash he could find (he still remembers the exact amount - two thousand one hundred sixty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents) and claimed his freedom by marching out the front door. It didn't feel like a triumph at the time, though, and he had literally walked for hours on end, his only purpose to get away from that house as far as possible, jumping on buses without checking where they were headed and getting off again when he felt like it. He considered leaving New York altogether, but couldn't follow through with it and at the end of the day he had allowed himself the luxury of a hotel room in a part of town where no one knew who he was. It was the East Village, but he didn't realize that at the time. Too exhausted and jittery to even shower, half expecting Eric to burst through the door at any moment, he collapsed onto the bed and, for the first time in many long months, went to sleep without having to endure Eric's attentions.

(Eric's money soon ran out, forcing Lee back to the streets, but he never strayed far from the East Village after that, because after his escape the bohemian neighborhood had become synonymous with home to him.)

When Lee told the story in therapy, remembering things as he went, Richard's first emotional response had been to hug Lee very tightly and whisper how much he loved him and how proud he was - much like he is doing now.

"It's okay, baby," Lee tells him, stroking his fingers through Richard's hair and murmuring all the reassuring things his brain can come up with. "I got out. A bit worse for wear, sure, but the important thing is that I'm still here, with you. I love you so much. We're getting through this together, you know that, don't you? I know it's hard but it's going to be so worth it."

"It already is, Lee," Richard says earnestly. "And don't you for a second believe otherwise."

It is this declaration that ends the conversation and prompts Lee to decide that for the time being, there is nothing more urgent to be done than to wrap his limbs around this man and squeeze him as tightly as he can endure. Only later, after they have settled in to go to sleep - Lee comfortably tucked away in Richard's arms - does Richard speak again.

"So," he says, as his fingers casually trace Lee's 'hope' tattoo, "other than watching you and reflecting on how gorgeous you looked, do you want to know what else I spent most of the day thinking about?"

Lee, who is perilously close to drifting off, drags his eyes open with some difficulty. "Mmm? What's that?"

"Well, I had quite a bit of time on my hands, see," Richard elaborates teasingly, knowing that he has managed to spark Lee's interest and milking it a little longer than strictly necessary. "So I thought I might as well flick through some of the magazines and portfolios you keep at the shop. For, ah, inspiration."

Suddenly, Lee could not be more awake. "You did?" He hadn't so much as suspected that Richard might while away the time doing research for his tattoo, but then, he had been so absorbed in his work that Richard leaving to get pizzas had managed to escape his attention too. When Richard doesn't immediately volunteer any additional information, Lee cannot help prompting impatiently, "And did you decide anything? God, Rich, you're infuriating. Don't make me tickle it out of you."

Richard laughs, but he seems to understand that Lee's warning is in earnest, and clearly doesn't want to risk testing Lee's patience any more than he already has.

"Okay, okay," he concedes, still chuckling, "no need to make threats. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, you know. Do you want to hear what I've come up with?"

_"Yes."_

"Then kiss me first," Richard coaxes, "and I'll tell you everything."


	33. Swift

The instructions Richard had given Lee with regard to his birthday were as unambiguous as they came. 

"I want to keep it simple and low key," he'd stated resolutely when Lee brought it up at breakfast one morning, about a week prior to the day itself. "And by that I mean no exorbitant gifts, no cake with forty candles, no rounding up my friends and vague acquaintances for a raucous surprise party. No fuss in any way, shape or form. All that unwanted attention would only serve to make me that much grumpier than I'm going to be already." 

"I guess I'll call off the club, then," Lee grinned. "And the D.J. and the strippers too. Shame. I was looking forward to getting you to let loose on the dance floor and shake that delectable ass of yours. I've never seen you boogie." 

"Nor will you ever." 

"Aww, why not?" Lee wheedled, scooting closer and giving Richard's thigh a teasing little rub under the table. "I bet you'd look cute dancing." 

"No dancing," Richard reiterated firmly. "No D.J. And definitely, _definitely_ no strippers. I just want to spend a lovely quiet day with you, maybe go out for lunch and order in for dinner. Nothing wild or crazy or... inappropriate, okay? Promise me that, Lee, please." 

"Hmm, it might be a little late for that, Rich. I'd say that getting a tattoo probably counts as pretty wild in most circles." Lee laughed as he ducked so as not to get smacked by the folded newspaper Richard waved at him. "Or have you changed your mind about that?" 

"I have not, and I'm not going to." Richard put the newspaper down and pushed his chair back, gesturing invitingly at his vacant lap. Lee went only too willingly, although cognizant of the fact that two tall, grown up men like themselves probably should not be sharing a chair like this. But these scruples faded from his mind the second Richard's arms curled around his waist and tugged him closer for an affectionate cuddle. "All right then, let me rephrase. Other than getting some ink done by my gorgeous, talented boyfriend, nothing wild or crazy for my birthday. Do I have your promise?" 

Lee nestled into the embrace, a happy sigh escaping him as he slipped his arms around Richard's shoulders and tucked his face into the crook of his neck. Richard had asked Lee to ink him on the day of his birthday itself, and Lee could not deny that the thought made something excited flutter in his stomach every time. The fact that Richard trusted him enough to have him put his first tattoo on him - when he hadn't even been that much into tattoos previously - was at once exhilarating and, it had to be said, more than a little nerve-wracking. 

The truth of the matter was that this tattoo, although fairly straightforward in design from an objective standpoint, would be the most meaningful of his career to date, and he thought it incredibly ironic that Richard seemed a lot less intimidated by the prospect than Lee - for all his years of experience - could claim to be. 

"Okay, baby," he murmured, sliding savoring fingers through Richard's hair and brushing his lips against his neck, breathing him in. "No fuss or fanfare for your birthday, if that is what you want. I promise." 

But it was a false promise, one he knew he would break even as he made it. Because come hell or high water, his boyfriend's fortieth birthday is not something Lee is prepared to let pass unnoticed, and he has secretly been making plans for it for a while. It goes without saying that his jabs about clubbing and strippers had been in jest (although his desire to see Richard dance is very real, and he has every intention of making it come to pass one day), and Lee feels fairly confident that Richard won't mind the deception too much once he realizes that what Lee has planned is in fact one long romantic date, chock full of Richard's favorite activities. (Well, excluding one, although Lee wouldn't be the least bit opposed to treating Richard to a spontaneous celebratory blow job should the birthday boy fancy one at any stage.) 

The day kicks off according to plan when Lee is, as usual, the first to wake up (despite not having set an alarm because, let's face it, that would have been counterproductive), and he extracts himself from the sleepy clutch of Richard's limbs with some difficulty before tiptoeing into the kitchen to prepare a breakfast tray to bring back to bed. However, the process of making breakfast in an otherwise quiet apartment turns out to be a lot noisier than he anticipated, and before he can finish a messy-haired Richard wanders out of the bedroom to see what all the ruckus is about. Lee promptly turns him around and marches him back to bed, instructing him to stay there until further notice. It takes some insistent cajoling and quite a few soft, slow kisses, but eventually Richard does as he is asked and crawls back under the covers with an expectant smile. 

When Lee returns about ten minutes later, balancing a heavy tray with toast, eggs, bacon, fresh juice and just about every breakfast-appropriate product he has managed to dig up - including a jar of Richard's favorite brand of marmalade from the little British specialty shop a few blocks down, which he insists is second best only to his grandmother's homemade version - Richard is propped up in the pillows and texting on his phone, which he immediately puts away. 

"Sorry," he says, offering Lee an apologetic grin. "Birthday messages from across the ditch. Family members lining up to reassure me that forty is the new thirty, whatever that means." 

"Honestly, Rich, you don't look one iota different to me." Lee puts the tray on the bedside table and slides under the covers Richard lifts invitingly, scooting closer until he's pressed up nice and snug against Richard's side and he can wind his arms around the man's waist. "And if that isn't reassurance enough for you, I have seen pictures of you from ten, twenty years ago and baby, take it from me: you are one of those lucky men who only get sexier with age." 

"Hmph." 

"Also," Lee adds, dropping his voice to a suggestive murmur as he nudges Richard's cheek with his nose and lets his thoughts stray back to the steamy blow job Richard had given him the night before. (And no, Lee would not at all be surprised if they'd actually fogged up the windows in the process, because to say that Richard had been enthusiastic - vigorous, even - would be the understatement of the century. He'd committed himself fully right from the outset, going to town on Lee like it was the last thing he'd ever do, only to pause and look up at him mid blow job, fingers twitching restlessly on Lee's thigh. Reading the question in Richard's eyes even before he found the words, Lee had reached into the drawer and passed Richard the lube - a spontaneous addition to the repertoire but one they didn't need to waste any words on. In just a few, blessedly short moments Richard had eased one slippery finger in and was patiently - well, as patiently as could be expected - preparing him for the second. The first time Richard's fingertips skirted just shy of his prostate, Lee had squirmed and pushed down on his fingers to take him deeper, and things had only spiraled from there - especially once Richard took him in his mouth again, sucking and swallowing in earnest and not taking his eyes off Lee's face as he teased him with flicks of his wrist and curved his fingers just so every few strokes, slowly increasing his speed while Lee twisted and arched off the bed and tangled his hands into Richard's hair and cried out at the exquisite pressure and the unrelenting rhythm that Richard set. His resulting climax had left him boneless and gasping for breath, barely aware of the weight of Richard's head pillowed on his thigh and the sweet nothings he murmured against his skin.) 

"Also," Lee repeats, picking up his train of thought again as he tries to shake off these distracting images for now, "the way you made me come last night was hardly characteristic of an old man, Rich." 

"That is all well and good," Richard says (although he looks quite pleased with the compliment), "but as much as I want to prove to my family and the world at large that I'm not decrepit yet, going around telling people that I can still make my lusty younger boyfriend scream the house down is hardly the way to do it." 

Lee snickers softly and slings his leg across Richard's hips to roll on top of him, humming contentedly when he feels Richard's morning erection pressing against his lower belly. His own is in a very similar state, having woken up rapidly to the warmth and nearness of Richard's body. "It's okay, baby," he soothes, kissing the slight furrow between Richard's brows. "You've still got it, and as long as I get to reap the rewards of that, nothing else really matters." 

Richard mutters his agreement somewhat reluctantly and tilts his face up to kiss him, taking Lee's waist in his hands before reaching lower to cup his ass and drag him closer. Their kissing quickly becomes noisier and messier - Lee sighs and then moans into Richard's mouth as strong fingers squeeze his ass cheeks, and his cock gives a traitorous twitch. 

"Rich," he gasps when he manages to free his mouth for a moment, "breakfast's gonna get cold at this rate." 

"Let it," Richard murmurs heatedly as he dips his fingers underneath the waistband of Lee's briefs and moves his hips in a slow upward rolling motion. He gives Lee a very convincing pout. "It's my birthday, that means I get whatever I want, doesn't it?" 

How could Lee argue with such irrefutable logic? 

"Fair enough, birthday boy," he concedes, and smiles as he lets Richard guide their mouths together once more and kiss him attentively and continue that slow, decadent rolling of his hips until they are both as hard as each other and pressed so close together that Lee isn't sure where his next breath is going to come from (and is past caring about the answer). By this point Richard is moving as if entranced, panting _please, Lee, please_ and Lee is too dazed to register how it happens but somehow they both end up with their briefs pulled halfway down their thighs and their hands wrapped around each other's cocks. Lee can't stop watching Richard's face as he jerks him off with steady, deliberate strokes, reveling in the way Richard bucks up underneath him and convulses when a series of clever twists of Lee's wrist tips him over the edge. Lee gets his due just a few short moments later, emitting a single shuddering moan as he pours out. 

"Fuck, babe," he sighs once he starts to come down from his orgasm, entirely too happy and sated to care about the fact that he is sprawled on top of Richard bare-assed and sticky and that this is very definitely not how he had planned to start the day. "That was something else." 

"Hmm," Richard agrees with a sluggish, lazy smile. "Nothing beats the smell of come and lube in the morning." 

"Your eggs will be all cold and snotty by now, though." 

"Maybe I like 'em that way." 

Lee chuckles indulgently, feeling entirely too tuckered out to feign any interest in his carefully prepared breakfast going to waste. "You're incorrigible." 

"Incorrigibly horny for my boyfriend, yes, and not ashamed to admit it." 

"Not exactly what I meant, but I'll take it." Thoroughly amused by Richard's post-coital cockiness, Lee gives him another, lingering kiss. "I hope you know that you completely upset my plans for today right from the get go." 

"I wish I could say I'm sorry, but I'm really not." Barely has Richard said it when Lee's words sink in and a look of alarm replaces his impish grin. "Wait - what plans? Didn't I ask you not to make any? I distinctly remember having that conversation with you, and you making that promise quite readily." 

"I promised not to subject you to anything wild, dangerous, inappropriate or involving strippers," Lee clarifies with another kiss. "And I won't. What I've got planned for you today, lover, is a day of fun, non-strenuous, age-appropriate activities, exactly as you wanted." 

Richard's grin returns in full force, and he gestures at the both of them, still covered in the evidence of their morning tryst. "What about this?" 

"This was just a... spontaneous deviation." 

"Hmm, I see." Another kiss, this time initiated by Richard. "I hope you've left some leeway in your schedule for more spontaneous deviations like this." 

Lee gives Richard's lower lip a punishing little nip of his teeth and follows it up with a soothing swipe of his tongue, eliciting a muffled groan and, astonishingly, a faint twitch of Richard's spent cock against his hip. "See? That's not the turnaround time of an old man," he teases, spoiling Richard with a series of neck kisses that are equally well received, Richard tilting his head back to bare his neck for more. After a few enjoyable moments of this, however, Lee pulls away and rolls off him, a turn of events Richard protests with a whimper that goes ignored. 

"The day is still young, babe," Lee points out, pulling up his briefs and reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table. "Come on, let's clean up and eat. And while we have this breakfast of not-quite-fresh juice and gooey eggs, you can decide whether you want to kick off your birthday with a nice, long shower or a hot bath." 

Richard chooses the latter (after that first time, the former self-proclaimed 'five minute shower man' has taken a shine to the benefits of a luxurious bubble bath, especially when it is shared) so after breakfast they spend the better part of an hour lazing and making out in the tub, Lee playfully fending off all of Richard's attempts at letting things progress to the next level. As tempting as it is to cave, Lee finds he enjoys Richard's pouting rather too much, and besides - it can't hurt to keep the man eager. 

Not until the water has run almost uncomfortably cold do they clamber out of the tub reluctantly and proceed to get dressed and finish the rest of the morning ritual. Although neither of them is adamant about shaving every day, today they both do, exchanging fond smiles in the mirror as they stand companionably side by side, mostly silent except for the scratchy noises and the repetitive swish and flick of their razors. It is quiet, domestic moments like these that Lee has come to love most about cohabitation, and simple as it may be, he cannot stop grinning for sheer joy. 

Afterwards, Lee installs Richard on the couch and makes it clear that he is to stay put. "Sit back and relax," he instructs, kissing Richard's forehead. "I'm just going to fire up the Ferrari, okay? Back in a few." 

While he goes to make coffee (Richard, although having made giant strides in learning how to operate the espresso machine, had dubbed it the Ferrari for being obnoxiously flashy and pretentious - and, of course, Italian - and the nickname had stuck and spawned an ongoing series of running jokes between them) Richard calls his parents to thank them for their birthday message. 

Barely have they exchanged their first hellos when it becomes clear he probably should have postponed the call for a minute or two. 

"Come again, Mum?" Richard hollers into the mouthpiece, stoppering his opposite ear to block out the noise of the coffee grinding process. Lee has no doubt that Richard's phone picks it up and sends it all the way across the Atlantic. "Oh, it's nothing. Lee got me a Ferrari for my birthday and we're taking it for a spin." 

Lee almost chokes on his laughter and Richard has difficulty containing his own as he has to explain to his startled mother that no, it was honestly just a joke and no, mid-life crisis hasn't hit him quite that hard just yet. 

After the call (which ends with Richard promising to start looking for flight tickets to London for the Christmas period before the prices skyrocket), they stretch out on the couch together with their cups of coffee and Lee pulls a strategically planted and gift-wrapped package from behind the pillows, placing it somewhat bashfully in Richard's lap. 

"No objections, please," he says when he sees Richard's look. "Just open it." 

"Could this be the golf set I've always wanted?" Richard teases as he opens the flat, rectangular package (and Lee isn't really surprised to see that he's endearingly meticulous about it, picking at the tape rather than tearing off the paper to find out what it hides). 

Lee rolls his eyes indulgently. "You don't even know how to play golf." 

"And I won't learn unless I get a golf set," Richard counters, smirking at his own comeback. 

Once he's painstakingly peeled off the tape and pulls away the paper, however, Richard's smile falters, surprise and recognition flitting briefly across his face before being replaced by something warm and affectionate that tells Lee he's struck the right chord. For several long moments he just sits blinking down at what lies in his lap - a framed picture of the two of them in profile, almost nose to nose, smiling and looking completely besotted with each other. 

"It's really sappy, I know," Lee hurriedly explains, running his hands nervously up and down his thighs as Richard raises the picture and admires it, "but when Andy took that picture and made that casual comment about it being something for the mantelpiece, it put an idea in my head. So I gave him a call and asked if I could buy a print. I half expected him to sputter, because technically I guess the pictures are the property of the magazine, but he took care of it straight away. He didn't even want anything for it." 

His nervous babbling only ceases when Richard reaches across and takes his hand. "He's a friendly guy. And an amazing photographer. We'll give it a prominent place somewhere." He leans over meet Lee's mouth in a fond kiss. "I love it, Lee. Thank you." 

The picture is in fact not Richard's real gift - not the only one, at least - but Lee knows better than to point that out and spoil the surprise, so he just smiles and doesn't say anything as Richard curls up against him and they sip their coffee in peace. 

"This is already the perfect birthday," Richard sighs. "I can't think of anything left to wish for." 

Lee hums, nuzzling the top of Richard's head. "That's good to hear, but I hope you'll at least let me try to prove you wrong?" 

Richard sneaks a sly glance up at him, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, I guess I could think of _something_ , after all..." 

"No, not that." Lee shakes his head mock-reproachfully. "God, Rich, I'm glad your sex drive hasn't gone away overnight, but we're not going to spend your birthday fooling around in bed. And no, I'm not telling you anything else," he adds, forestalling the next question. "Just enjoy your coffee and let me take care of everything, okay? You're in good hands with me." 

Once he sees that Lee is standing firm, Richard grudgingly relents - not before he's coaxed Lee into pacifying him with kisses, however - and settles back into his previous position. 

"Fine, Pace," he mutters, "you're in charge. But come March, I'm getting you back for this ten times over - and that is a solemn promise." 

*** 

Richard groans in what is either bone-deep contentment or mild discomfort or a combination of both as he stretches out languidly on the grass, blinking up sleepily at the canopy of the tree offering them some reprieve from the blistering afternoon sun. "Just so you know, Lee, I won't be moving from this spot anytime soon. I don't think I could even if I wanted to." 

Lee smiles as he follows Richard's example and nestles down at his side. "I told you four scoops of ice cream was a bit excessive, especially after all that food. Not to mention the cake." 

Richard sighs blissfully. "It was delicious. All of it was, but the cake in particular." 

"So delicious that you couldn't not have a second slice." Lee rolls over on his side and props himself up on his elbow, rubbing Richard's stomach in soothing circles. "Oh well, I'm sure we can find a way for you to burn off the extra calories." 

Richard opens one eye to peek at him mischievously. "Hmm, now you're talking." 

Lee snorts out a laugh. "God, Rich, could you drag your mind out of the gutter for just a second? I meant the bike." 

After their morning coffee, Lee had told Richard that they were going out and taking the bike, allowing him to assume that he'd be hitching a ride on the back of Lee's as usual. Once they got down to the basement, however, there was a second bike next to Lee's - another Giant, shinier and newer - and it was a few seconds before the penny dropped and Richard turned to Lee with an incredulous expression on his face. 

"I figured it was time you started pulling your own weight," Lee explained with a shrug and a grin. "I know it's not a Ferrari, in fact it's not even Italian, but you'll look just as good riding it, maybe even better. And you can go places with me without experiencing any, um, uncomfortable side effects." 

To say that Richard was dumbfounded would have been a gross understatement (the fact that he didn't even think to object to this extravagance was a clear indicator of just how stunned he was), and once he was somewhat recovered he'd wrapped Lee in a hug so tight that both looked slightly flushed from the lack of air by the time they separated. 

They'd gone for a spin around the neighborhood first, keeping to the quiet streets until Richard felt more confident on the bike (he hadn't ridden one since before he moved to London, but he took to it like a duck to water). They'd stopped at one of their favorite haunts, a little pastry shop a few blocks down from their apartment, gotten settled in on the sunny terrace outside and ordered cake from the lady who ran the shop with her husband and who insisted on decorating Richard's slice with a single candle when she found out it was his birthday. Needless to say that it made him the center of attention, the other patrons applauding and then whooping as a blushing Richard blew out his candle and got a congratulatory kiss from Lee - not the first of the day and definitely not the last either. 

They'd gone to see an early matinee at one of their favorite off-Broadway theatres next, a small but well-reviewed production that Richard had talked about wanting to see. When they strolled into the lobby during the intermission, hand in hand, they'd been spotted by some admirers of Richard's, who came over to say hi. Richard kept the interactions brief, however, and they spent the rest of the intermission cozied up together in a quiet corner, discussing the play. 

The weather was still perfect when they left the theatre afterwards, so Lee had made Richard wait outside with the bikes while he popped into a nearby supermarket and put together an impromptu picnic, which they'd taken to Central Park and spread out on a sun-dappled patch of grass with a view of one of the ponds. Lee had even thought to buy champagne for Richard and a bubbly non-alcoholic alternative for himself, but when he made to uncork the champagne, Richard stopped him. 

 "Actually," he said, "I'll have a glass of yours as well." 

"Why? Too early for the real thing?" Lee teased. Richard's solemn tone did strike him as slightly odd, but he dismissed the feeling almost at once, thinking that he must have misinterpreted it. "It's your birthday, Rich, you're allowed to indulge a little. Besides, you should drink it while it's still cool. It's going to heat up in no time in this weather." 

"No, love, that's not what I meant." Richard smiled at Lee, who gave him an uncomprehending look in return. "What I'm trying to tell you, quite inarticulately, is that I've decided to quit alcohol. Starting today." 

As unexpected an announcement as it was, Lee knew straight away why Richard had made this decision and that there would be no changing his mind, but that didn't stop him from trying. "Richard, I already told you, you don't have to do that on my account. I never expected you to change your life for me and I never will." 

"But my life is already changed, in so many wonderful ways," Richard said. "It changed the night you came to see me at Cherry Lane and it hasn't been the same since. I know you've never expected me to change, and I'm grateful because it makes the decision that much easier. I've considered this carefully, Lee, and I'm sure, as sure as I am of my own name, that it's the right thing to do. I want to support your sobriety in every way I can, and it would be hypocritical not to change my own ways when you have worked so hard, and still work hard every day, to get to where you are now. I would feel like the worst sort of boyfriend if I kept drinking, however casually." 

Overcome with a mighty need to lean over and squeeze the living daylights out of this remarkable, loving man, Lee blinked back a sudden rush of tears and wondered - not for the first time - what he had done to deserve such devotion. "But you love a good glass of wine at the end of the day." 

"I do," Richard stated simply, "but I love you so much more." 

So they'd opened Lee's bottle of sparkly apple cider instead and clinked glasses (well, they were plastic cups, but it was a festive moment nonetheless) and donated the unopened champagne to another couple dozing on a blanket nearby. And to top things off, they'd finished their lavish outdoor meal with a dessert of ice cream from the cart. It was this final course that had proven the nail in the coffin of Lee's other plans (he'd originally hoped to finish off the afternoon with a trip to the bird sanctuary, but the warmth of the sun and the fullness of their bellies and the heaviness of his limbs tell him that those plans will be for another day). 

"Ah, yes, the bike," Richard smiles and pulls Lee against him drowsily. "That was a lovely surprise, Lee. The whole day has been, actually. You more than delivered on your promises." 

"Hmm. And the day isn't over yet." Lee strokes a finger down Richard's jaw and tips his mouth towards his. Thoughts of the possibility of a blow job later casually float back into his mind - thoughts of more than a blow job, if he is honest with himself, thoughts he isn't ready to share at this moment quite yet - and he smiles as he leans in for a kiss, wondering if Richard can taste the promise on his lips. 

That the kiss leaves Richard slightly breathless is obvious. "I'm quite serious, Lee. My birthday last year was one of the worst days of my life. I'd just broken up with my girlfriend and knowing that we weren't right for each other didn't make it any less miserable of a time. It was also my last birthday before the big 4-0 and I was all melancholic about that, obsessing about being past my prime and too old to ever find love again. If only I had known then how much brighter things would look on the same day a year later, I wouldn't have despaired. And it's not just today, either - although I'm immensely appreciative of the lengths you've gone to in organizing all this for me - because every day with you is a joy, Lee, and I'm so grateful that I let bloody Graham talk me into accompanying him to a tattoo shop of all places." 

"Right back at you." Lee kisses him again. "And as far as I am concerned, we have so many more birthdays and regularly happy days to look forward to." 

"Oh, that reminds me." Richard's tone is deceptively casual as he lifts a hand to brush Lee's cheek. "Since we've been talking about getting a dog-" 

"Yeeeees?" Lee abruptly leans up, giving Richard a high-voltage grin. "Go on, finish that thought." 

"I was thinking... how about we do that for your next birthday? Go to the pound and get ourselves a lap warmer. Your pick, but I reserve the right to veto." 

Lee's face falls just as quickly as it lit up. "But my birthday isn't till March - that's seven whole months away. Can't I trade the dog for whatever you were going to get me for Christmas? Please? Please, baby?" Sticking out his lower lip rebelliously, he scrambles to his knees and swings one leg over to straddle Richard's prostrate body. "Also, I'm not interested in getting a dog just for me. Share everything, that was what we agreed on, and any dogs we get will be shared as well. Therefore our votes count equally." 

Richard groans. "It's dogs now? Plural?" 

"Oops, did I really say that? Must have slipped out." Smiling devilishly, Lee curls his fingers around Richard's wrists and pins them to the ground as he leans down, making sure to keep his hips pressed flush against Richard's as he does so and executing a precise little grind that potential onlookers won't notice but Richard will definitely feel. 

"Lee." Richard does a fairly convincing imitation of looking stern and unaffected, but his voice slips into a lower pitch and sounds distinctly lacking in breath. "Cut that out. Don't do that, not here." 

"Why?" Lee challenges playfully, making no move to obey. On the contrary, he lets his legs fall open a tiny bit more, taking note of the way Richard's eyelashes flutter ever so slightly in response. "Are you shy, baby? Worrying we'll get arrested for public lewdness?" 

"Neither," Richard drily responds. "I'd just rather you didn't torture me like that when we both know that you won't be able to follow through." He raps Lee's thigh. "Dismount, please, I want to show you something." 

This time Lee does as he is asked, intrigued by what Richard might want him to see, and as they both settle into a comfortable sitting position Richard produces his tablet, opening his Gmail and pulling up an e-mail from Philippa from a few weeks earlier before handing the device over to Lee. 

_Subject: read this!  
_

_Richard, subject is self-explanatory. It's the kind of role you've been nagging me about for years, so be sure to thank me in your speech when they give you the Tony._

"That is, ah, a joke. Mostly," Richard explains with an embarrassed grin. "The 'T' word is a sensitive issue with Philippa. She thinks I was snubbed when I didn't get the nom for _The Crucible_ last year. Anyway, go ahead - open the attachment." 

Lee lets his finger hover over the PDF file at the bottom of Philippa's message, knowing full well what it is - the script he's seen Richard poring over for the last few weeks, the one he didn't seem to be able to put away. "Are you sure?" 

Richard nods. "I'd like you to have a look at it and give me your honest opinion." 

Heart beating fast with curiosity, Lee opens the attachment and waits for it to load in a new window, smiling at Richard who grins back nervously - and it is that look, that hopeful tension in Richard's face, that tells Lee just how invested Richard is in this role already. 

He wonders, briefly, if it could be _Richard III_ , the play that has eluded Richard ever since he first set foot onto the stage and started dreaming about a professional career in acting. But something in Richard's eyes, a nuance he can't quite put his finger on, tells him that it's something else, something Richard didn't know he wanted until recently. 

Once the document finishes loading, Lee doesn't need to scroll past the first page to find out what it is that has kept Richard so enthralled for the past few weeks. Everything he needs to know is in the title. 

" _A Single Man_." He glances up at Richard, his mouth spreading into a beam. "They're making a play of it, Rich? Really?" 

Richard nods, seemingly relieved by the favorable reaction (as if Lee would be anything less than thrilled with the fact that Philippa has come through with a script that might make one of Richard's oldest dreams come true). "I take it you know the novel?" 

"I do. And it's a very poignant story and a wonderful part for you, Rich." He smiles somewhat wrily. "But just as a warning - you know I'm going to bawl like a baby every time I see it, right?" 

_A Single Man_ chronicles a day in the life of George, an English-born professor living in early 1960's Los Angeles and struggling to privately cope with the death of his longtime partner Jim, who was tragically killed in a car accident some months previously. With homophobia still rampant at the time, a gay man like George would have had to hide his loss and his grief from his surroundings, and go on as if his heart was still whole and not shattered into a million pieces. Although Lee has only read the book once, he remembers vividly the emotional impact it had on him at the time, the protagonist's depression, social isolation and stifled grief captured on the pages so viscerally that they grabbed him by the throat like a vise and lingered in his mind long after he closed the pages. Most heartwrenching of all, George suffers a heart attack and dies at the very end of the book, a twist that struck Lee like a hammer blow and left him reeling, and he knows that in the right hands, the play could be just as thought-provoking as the novel it is based on. 

He also knows that Richard has been waiting for a role like this - a gay protagonist - for literally years, but it was Philippa who always had her doubts, worried that it would cut too close to Richard's personal life, that it would affect his image and close certain doors for him. Apparently she finally decided it is time to jump aboard the gay interest train - or maybe she is simply so desperate to get Richard off the couch and back on the stage again that she finally caved and got him an audition for a part she knew he wouldn't be able to say no to. 

Either way, George Falconer is an interesting, challenging role with plenty of meat for an actor to sink his teeth into, and Lee has no doubt that if given the chance, Richard will knock it out of the park night after night. 

Richard sighs. "I don't know why I always gravitate towards the tragic ones. I don't think I've done frivolous since I was at LAMDA and my class put on a performance of _Noises Off_." He watches Lee scroll through the document, pausing occasionally to read a passage. "So... you think I should go for it?" 

"Isn't that obvious?" Lee looks up to send him a wide smile. "When is the audition? If they have half a brain, they will offer you the part on the spot." 

"Good, I'm glad you think so." A slow flush of embarrassment blooms on Richard's face and crawls down his neck. "Because, um, I already had my first audition and got a callback. They want to see me again next week." 

Lee just gapes at him, taken aback by this unexpected turn. He had wondered, based on the lack of information that Richard had provided, if things hadn't worked out for one reason or another, despite how immersed he had seemed in the script weeks earlier. He had never imagined that Richard had been intentionally keeping things close to his chest presumably so he could surprise Lee like this. "Are you serious?" 

An uncertain nod. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I wanted to, believe me, but it seemed like hubris, especially after what happened last time. I didn't want to jinx the audition and I decided to wait until I knew more. Philippa called yesterday, while you were in the bathroom, and I figured I'd hold on to the news a bit longer and surprise you with it at the right time. I hope you're not upset?" 

Lee laughs and curls his hand around the back of Richard's neck, pulling him closer for a ringing kiss. "Upset? Baby, try thrilled. I'm so fucking pleased for you. You've wanted a role like this for so long." 

"I don't have it yet," Richard warns, ever cautious, but the boyish grin lighting up his face tells a different story. 

"It's basically a formality at this point." In a moment of epiphany, Lee pulls back slightly to give Richard a knowing smirk. "And I guess this explains the way you pounced on me when I came out of the shower last night, doesn't it?" Richard grows even redder. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I rather enjoyed the element of surprise, and your enthusiasm. The speed at which you got me naked and spread-legged on the bed begging for your mouth was something for the books." 

"You say that like I need an excuse to get you naked and begging," Richard remarks, feigning offense. His eyes trail down to Lee's mouth as if distracted by it, and when they flick back up there is a hint of heat in them that makes Lee's stomach do a flip. "And I like to think I'm always enthusiastic about the things we do in bed - _especially_ that." 

"Oh, you are." Lee swallows slowly, held entranced by Richard's smoldering gaze. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise." 

"Okay, good. I would hate to think I'd fallen short somehow." 

"Definitely not. In fact," Lee suggests, lowering his voice to a private murmur, "why don't I take you home and help you rehearse for your next killer audition - in bed, after I've reciprocated for last night several times over." 

"Several times over, huh?" Richard's mouth curls up at the corners, the warmth in his eyes not abating in the slightest. "That is quite a titillating promise, Lee. But before I take you up on it, there is this one other thing I'd like to do." 

"Okay, what's that?" Lee asks curiously, entirely too absorbed by Richard's good news to realize what he is referring to. "Please don't tell me it's more food. I might explode just thinking about it." He trails off seeing Richard's broadening grin, and blushes as the meaning of his words dawns on him. "Oh, shit, of course. Sorry." 

"Ah, so you remembered?" Richard laughs and takes Lee's chin in his hand, guiding their mouths together for an attentive, leisurely kiss. "In all seriousness, Lee, you've treated me to such an incredible day. I swear I haven't been spoilt this much on a birthday since I was eight years old and only stopped playing with my new racetrack to eat myself sick on cake and the contents of the Quality Street tin my gran got me. Mum may just have a coronary when she finds out, but I want a reminder of this day and I want you to put it on me. So let's pack up here and go home - you have some work to do."


	34. Swallow

Over the years, Lee has diligently and painstakingly etched dozens, if not hundreds, of different species of birds into people's skin for a myriad of different reasons. And more times than he can remember, curious customers have set him the impossible task of picking a favorite: the type of bird that he gets the biggest thrill out of bringing to life on someone's body, the one he always seems to return to in his moments of idle sketching, when he just grabs paper and pencil and draws for his own pleasure. He usually humors them with an answer, but that answer isn't always the same. He loves the majestic elegance of the phoenix and the creative license he can take with it, and likewise he enjoys capturing the sleek, streamlined contours of the falcon and other birds of prey, but truth be told, he is just as fond of the smaller, rounder sparrows and robins and other passerine species that require a more delicate hand, shorter and curvier lines, and a certain tender touch that Lee, even after thirteen years of practical experience and a lifetime of drawing, still can't quite put into words. Few things make him happier or give him a greater sense of accomplishment than a plump little sparrow on the shoulder of a dreamy-eyed girl who's just spent the entire time babbling nervously about her childhood memories of her grandfather taking her to feed the birds in the park when she was a little girl. (Not rarely these are memorial tattoos, so it is even more satisfying when the grandfather in question has come along for moral support and is beaming fondly at his granddaughter from the visitor's chair.)

He gets his fair share of unusual requests as well, of course, and it still surprises him sometimes what people are willing to put on their bodies - from chickens to ostriches and everything in between. He recently had a homesick New Zealander come in toting a picture of a kiwi and insisting that was the image he wanted. It was not the most attractive bird Lee had ever tattooed onto a person, but the man had a good sense of humor about it and spent the better part of his hour in the chair talking about his interests (including but not limited to fishing and the All Blacks) and his childhood in a place called Whakatane while Lee strained his ears trying to decipher the strange vowels of the New Zealand accent (Aidan, meanwhile, had been much less subtle, and of course the guy had picked up on it - it was after the third tiny snicker that he had spelled out the place name, acknowledging with a grin the unfortunate fact that the Maori prefix _whaka_ sounded uncannily like 'fucker' when spoken in that broad kiwi accent, so every time he talked about his roots, Americans thought he was cussing for no reason). When the tattoo was finished, the man declared it 'mint, bro' and paid Lee a hefty tip saying that he'd recommend him warmly to his mates and fellow expats, so an increase in kiwi tats certainly seemed possible.

The man from Whakatane was just one of the many interesting strangers passing through the shop every day, and however diverse their stories are, the vast majority - if not all of them - are about love in some shape or form. That is a big part of why Lee loves doing what he does: making a human connection with people of all imaginable backgrounds and establishing a rapport with them, however brief and fleeting, and sometimes - especially recently - he cannot help but wonder if performing on stage to a faceless audience could have given him the same sense of fulfillment in the long run.

He could have been a good actor. God knows, he might even have been a great one someday. And it would have been thrilling and satisfying in many ways, but it wouldn't have taught him half as much about human nature as thirteen years of tattooing have so far, that much is certain (and the older he gets, the more he marvels at the unexpected twists and turns in his life's path and how they have curiously led him to a place where he feels more at home with every day that passes).

Unfortunately, those same thirteen years of experience have completely failed to prepare him for the unprecedented and nerve-wracking experience of tattooing the man he is, tentatively and solely in the privacy of his own heart, hoping to spend the rest of his life with.

It isn't that Richard is asking for anything complicated in terms of design. "A swallow," he'd said that night less than two weeks earlier, spreading his thumb and forefinger to indicate size, "about this big. As realistic as you can make it - nothing fancy or frilly, no colors, just simple black and grey. And most importantly I'd like you to draw it from scratch. I don't want some generic bird from a portfolio, I want something that you created."

At first Lee was brimming with confidence - he must have done hundreds of swallow tattoos in just as many ways, and he could probably do them with one hand tied behind his back at this stage. But what objectively should have been an easy brief quickly became a near Sisyphean task, as he spent long nights at the computer obsessively downloading swallow pictures from Google, comparing the different types and subspecies and making sketch after sketch only to reject every attempt and start over, repeating this cycle until his hand started cramping in protest and he still had nothing to show for it - nothing remotely good enough to deserve a place on Richard's body, at least. When Richard walked in on him like that one night, finding him surrounded by crumpled bits of paper and pencil shavings and radiating frustration, he'd sat him down and had a little talk with him.

"You don't need Wikipedia to tell you what a swallow looks like, Lee. All you have to do is take paper and pencil and draw a bloody swallow like I know you can. Using this." He'd pointed at Lee's heart. But when Lee sighed and reached for his sketchbook, Richard had stopped him with a look of mischief. "No, I don't mean right this minute. I've been waiting for the better part of an hour for you to come to bed, and you need something to take your mind off all this." And without saying another word, he had gotten Lee comfortably settled in bed and proceeded to give him the most amazingly relaxing back rub, diligently raking his fingers down Lee's spine and shoulders until his whole body was buzzing pleasantly and he was barely conscious enough to register how Richard lay down beside him and wrapped him in his arms to cuddle him to sleep.

The following morning, while Richard was still asleep, Lee had quietly snuck out of bed to fetch his sketchbook. Thankfully, Richard didn't wake as he slid back under the covers and propped himself up with pillows, and as soon as he put pencil to paper, it was as if a switch had been flipped, all the minute details he'd been struggling with so much before seeming to just fall into place with very little effort on his part. Before he knew it, there was a graceful little swallow decorating the page, one that made him happy to look at - one with character and personality, two traits that had been eluding him the night before because he'd been so hung up on technical details.

And, most importantly of all, one he knew would look incredible on Richard's body.

"Yeah, that'll do nicely," Richard had murmured sleepily - yet smugly - when Lee shook him by the arm to show him the result, too excited to care about the fact that he was waking him up from what appeared to be a very sound slumber. "See, I told you you would nail it."

But as triumphant as Lee felt in that moment, that is how nervous he is now that the moment of truth is here, clumsily bumping his knee and almost spilling valuable ink as he pulls his chair between Richard's and the dining room table. He isn't used to doing this outside the familiar environment of the shop, without Aidan there to set things up and forestall his every move, and although he is accustomed to getting close to people's skin in a professional setting, having Richard in the chair - bare-chested, his arm propped up comfortably on the table and the swallow stenciled onto his inner bicep - changes the rules of the game completely. This is not just some stranger who will get up and walk out the door once the tattoo is done, and this is not some stranger's body but one he's intimately familiar with and plans to be around for a long time to come.

He _cannot_ fuck this up.

"Easy, love," Richard says gently, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for him to be the calmer party in this scenario. As if he isn't about to let a nervous ex addict - who until four months ago had been a complete stranger - put a mark on his skin that he will carry with him the rest of his life. "You'll do just fine."

"'Just fine' won't cut it," Lee laments. "It can't be anything less than perfect. If my hand twitches or slips, you're screwed."

"It won't do either. Stop worrying about mistakes you're way too professional to make. I've seen you tattoo before and your hand is never anything other than steady as a rock."

"Try clammier than a dead fish." Lee flexes his gloved fingers and takes a final deep, fortifying breath before picking up the tattoo machine. As he tests its weight and the way it sits in his hand, he runs through the list of preparatory steps in his head, ticking them off one by one to make sure he's covered all the bases. He's sterilized the area meticulously, almost obsessively, and dragged the Swedish lamp from the bedroom (thankfully it didn't suffer any damage from the incident with the shoe a while back) to give himself the light he needs to work. He has smuggled in the best ink from the shop, checked and double checked his machine to make sure it's in perfect working order. He's got all his supplies and tools lined up, everything is in place and ready. The only thing he doesn't have is control of his nerves.

"It's not just your body that's at stake, you know," he says, trying to release some tension through humor (or an attempt thereat). "If I fuck this up, I'll be reminded of my inadequacy every time I see you naked."

"I'm glad you have your priorities straight." Richard grins at him. "And you won't fuck it up. Truthfully, when was the last time you botched a tattoo?"

"I'm too stressed to remember."

"That's because there isn't anything to remember." Richard beckons him closer. "Come here."

"No kissing in a sterile area," Lee murmurs half-jokingly, but he lets Richard pull him in anyway, closing his eyes as their lips brush together, soft and slow and unfathomably lovely. "You're absolutely sure about this, right?"

"Never surer."

Lee finds it all but impossible to pull away when Richard's fingers are gently slipping through his hair like that, but eventually he manages it - albeit regretfully - and switches his machine on. "I'll start at the wing, just a quick little line to introduce you to the feeling. Try to relax and keep breathing normally."

Richard nods. "I know the drill. From an observer's viewpoint, at least."

Lee chuckles as he leans over Richard's bicep and poises the needle. "Yeah - the experience will be a little different this time, I can guarantee you that."

For all his brave talk, Richard's breath hitches noticeably as the needle pops through his skin for the first time, and a curse escapes him unbidden. Lee glances up, mildly alarmed - but not really surprised - to see the extent of the discomfort etched on Richard's face, his nostrils flared and deep furrows marring his brow. Lee's concern - and the fact that he's not only stopped but turned the machine off without even realizing - earns him an apologetic grimace from Richard, who is starting to look extremely sheepish. (Many people are surprised at how much it hurts at first and he often has to pause right at the beginning, so this isn't anything new or unusual, but that doesn't stop Richard from clearly feeling embarrassed by his momentary lapse in self-control.) "Ah... sorry."

"That's okay, baby, you're not the first man to swear in the chair." Lee enforces the reassurance with a sympathetic smile. "Worse than you expected?"

The answer may be obvious, but when it comes to admitting to pain, Richard isn't so different from the average bloke. "Mmm - not sure yet. Ask me again in a few minutes." He straightens his spine as if to steel himself and answers Lee's questioning look with a bolstering smile of his own, albeit a slightly tight-lipped one. "Seriously, love, I'm okay. Keep going."

The next sting of the needle is met with another sharp inhale, Richard's hand involuntarily curling into a fist on the table, but Lee does as he has been instructed and presses on with the line work, knowing that only habituation will make this easier. He meticulously traces the lines of the pre-applied stencil, seeing the temporary image transform into something much more permanent one stroke at a time. He is not surprised to find that Richard seems to adjust to the pain fairly quickly - his breathing eventually settling into a more normal rhythm and the tension coiling in his shoulder and arm gradually lessening - but it is a relief all the same, and one less thing to worry about as he gets to work in earnest. With Richard relaxing, his own nervousness drains away as well, allowing instinct to take over and his hand to grow more confident as the swallow's silhouette slowly starts taking shape under his fingers.

The familiar, soothing buzz of the machine assists in calming his nerves further, enabling him to sort through the conflicting emotions that are swirling around in his brain and his chest as he works. Even though the worst of the jitters have dissipated by now and his hand feels reassuringly steady, he knows he won't be able to breathe completely freely until the last line of ink is done and he can judge the final result. (And while he tries to keep a professional mindset, he would be lying if he said that the thought of seeing it on Richard's body doesn't have his blood flowing a bit faster. As vehemently as he's always professed to love Richard's body without ink - and he does - he also knows that he's going to look bloody sexy with some. And the fact that Richard has this much faith in his abilities never fails to warm his chest and send a thrill down his spine).

Immersed in his work and these musings as he is, it takes him a while to realize how unusually quiet it is.

Under normal circumstances, this would normally be the moment for Lee to initiate conversation with the less chatty clients. Everyone copes with the pain in their own way, but talking helps create a distraction to take the mind off the worst of it and makes the time go by faster, so he always tries to engage with his clients, asking them about the significance of the tattoo or why they decided to get it. But with Richard, he finds that need isn't as present, in part because they aren't strangers to the act of sharing silence for longer stretches of time, and equally because Lee already knows the answers to those questions, having asked them the night Richard first told him what he had in mind.

"I have to ask," he'd said, lifting his head up from where it had been resting atop Richard's chest. Richard's request had satisfied his curiosity and fanned its flames at the same time, making those embers smolder all the more hotly. "Why a swallow? Why not a different bird?"

Richard was prepared for the question, of course. Barring the occasional drunkard or partygoer strung out on drugs - who invariably get sent away - Lee has never had a client show up who hasn't thought the decision through carefully. "Swallows are symbols of hope and new beginnings, two things I think of when I think of you, and a fitting tribute to how my life has been affected by change this year. How _I_ have been affected. And-" He grinned self-consciously. "Well, you know about my obsession with _Richard III_."

"Uh huh." Obsession was a strong way to put it, but the gist of it was certainly true. Richard had never made a secret of the fact that to play his famous namesake was one of his greatest ambitions as an actor. And the seed of that had been planted early, with his parents' decision to name him Richard because his birthday fell on the same day as the anniversary of the king's death.

"So I figured - there is this line in the fifth act." Richard's voice lilted up questioningly at the end, and he looked at Lee as if anticipating a response.

The play, like every other work he studied - both at high school and Juilliard - was tucked away in the back of Lee's mind, but he was almost surprised to find that he could pull it out on cue, mentally working his way through the act Richard referred to until the words in question rose to his lips as if he'd only read them yesterday. " _True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings_. Is that the one you're thinking of?" Lee laughed, feeling a strange sense of pride at this small accomplishment. "If this was a test to see how well I studied my Shakespeare, I hope I passed."

"With flying colors." Smiling fondly, Richard had pulled him closer and successfully distracted him with kisses that grow increasingly more heated until Lee pulled free with a grin and pointed out he had omitted one important detail - where he wanted the tattoo.

"Here," Richard said, pointing at the inside of his left bicep. "This arm specifically."

But when asked for the reason why he was so adamant about that particular detail, Richard had clammed up with embarrassment, which only served to make Lee that much more determined to wheedle it out of him - and when gentle prodding yielded no results, he wasn't above resorting to dirtier methods to achieve that aim.

"Come on, Rich, out with it," he cajoled after a brief, playful grappling match that ended with Lee firmly seated astride Richard's chest, knees pinning his shoulders down and fingers curled around his wrists. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. No judgment here, promise. Don't you think I've heard it all before? Now spill, or so help me god I will follow through on my tickle threat."

And Richard had caved, ducking his head and cringing as he mumbled something about how having his tattoo on his left arm meant that it would be closer to his heart. Needless to say that after that confession, Lee had done what he could to tell him as well as show him how much he approved of the choice (as well as the adorably sentimental thought behind it, as mortified as Richard had been to put it into words). And now that the bird is slowly emerging in front of his eyes and Lee can imagine more clearly how it's going to look when it's done, he can’t help the giddy excitement building in his chest, which has all but replaced the tension and fear of screwing up that had the upper hand earlier in the process.

Not having to make small talk for a change actually suits Lee well - the silence is a comfortable one and somehow adds to the significance of what they are sharing. He's inked acquaintances before, friends even, but never a boyfriend, let alone someone who means as much to him as Richard does, and now that he is finding his creative flow, he wants to let the momentousness of the occasion sink in and savor it, knowing that he will be looking back at this moment fondly in years to come.

While the depth of the emotions he is experiencing may be unusual, his immersion in the tattooing process itself is not. When it comes to his art, he has always been the type to get absorbed in the task at hand, so much so that the goings-on in the shop fade away entirely until it is just him, the machine in his hand, and the person in the chair. Beyond the responsibility of getting the tattoo itself perfect, it is also up to him to make sure that the client doesn’t push themselves to take more pain than they can handle - in some extreme cases, he's had people starting to hyperventilate and even passing out - so as he works, he keeps one ear attuned to Richard's breathing and pauses periodically to glance at his face, noticing the tension in his clenched jaw. "Still doing okay?"

Richard responds with a slight nod and a smile of reassurance that is a just little too quick, too thin for Lee's liking. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Unconvinced, Lee stops and places his free hand on the center of Richard's chest, splaying his fingers against the base of his throat. He can't help but regret the presence of the glove and wish for skin-to-skin contact, but even through its barrier he can feel Richard's pulse thumping frantically against his fingertips. "Your heart is beating really fast."

Richard raises an eyebrow, his smile turning slightly salacious. "How have you never noticed that that's just what happens when I'm near you?"

Lee laughs, seeing straight through Richard's macho façade (but the compliment, however smarmy it is, sparks a flicker of warmth in his chest all the same). "Nice try, Rich, but that doesn't account for the grimace you've been sporting since I started - plus, I've seen too many people turn pale in the chair to flatter myself thinking it has anything to do with me in the way you suggest. We'll pause for a few moments, and you, Mr. Armitage, will take a sip of water."

Richard does as Lee suggests, his mouth twitching ruefully as he lifts the glass to it. "I'm gaining a whole new appreciation for what you went through to look the way you do, Lee. My god, that phoenix alone - it takes up most of your left side. You must have been in agony for hours."

"Believe it or not, you sort of get numb to the pain after a while - mostly." Lee watches Richard take slow, small sips of water, temporarily distracted by the work of muscle and the way his throat bobs when he swallows. "You know, it might help to close your eyes. Try to go to a place inside your mind and retreat." He has found on more than one occasion that people become so preoccupied with the pain and the tattoo forming on their skin that the thought of _not_ paying attention does not actually occur to them until Lee suggests it, and Richard is no exception. Up until now, his eyes have been glued to the tattoo gun, observing Lee at work as if soaking it all up. It is slightly disconcerting to be under that amount of scrutiny - more so than usual in light of the intensely personal connection with not only the tattoo but the man himself - but Lee cannot fault him for being so intrigued, for being unable to tear his eyes away from Lee's fingers and the movement of the needle as it dances purposefully across his skin, even if it might be more sensible for him to lean back and try and block it all out.

Richard shakes his head vehemently. "No, I want to watch. It's not every day that I can observe New York's hottest tattoo artist doing his thing up close like this, let alone offer up my own skin as a canvas, and I don't want to miss a second of it."

"If you insist." Lee rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "You're the birthday boy, after all."

Richard snorts into his glass, looking mildly exasperated with the gag but clearly content to let it slide given that it's been working in his favor all day. "Damn, I wouldn't mind turning another year older tomorrow if it meant getting my way all the time." He puts the glass down and takes a steadying breath before smiling encouragingly at Lee. "I'm okay, Lee. Truthfully. You can keep going."

It only takes a few more carefully executed strokes to finish the outline, at which point Lee switches to a different needle and starts shading the tattoo to add some much needed contrast, detail and character. As always it is the most rewarding part, as bit by bit, feather by feather, the delicately shaped bird with its aerodynamic lines, forked tail and dark head is starting to come to life. Soaring, its wings spread wide and its legs folded closely against its flecked belly, it is in full flight, and one can imagine it whirling and swooping in the air gracefully like the winged little acrobat that it is, too fast almost for the human eye to track. ([X](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4c/95/16/4c9516cbe29ce42ff7ddc8f10bbbef0c.jpg))

When he is almost done, Lee adds a discreet reference to the line that inspired the tattoo. They've talked at length about what it should say, with Richard eventually opting against including the line itself and deciding instead on a simple attribution: _RIII 5.2_ , with the two numbers referring to the act and scene the line is taken from. Tucked neatly underneath the wing, it fits in seamlessly with the tattoo itself and doesn't jar the eye in the slightest.

 _True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings._ The fittingness of it makes him smile, and although Richard hasn't actually said it with so many words, Lee knows that the choice for this particular quote is a tribute to Lee's tattoo with the same theme as much as anything else. It is a declaration, and Lee feels a surge of warmth inside him that almost takes his breath away every time the realization of just how deep Richard's commitment goes hits home.

"Just a few splashes of white," he announces eventually, "and you're done."

He tinkers with the white a little longer than strictly necessary, adding highlights to the body and the wings and most importantly, the beady eye. But he finally has to acknowledge that the tattoo is finished, and he switches the machine off to grab a little hand mirror from the table and hold it up in front of Richard, who just stares quietly for a few long, nerve-wracking moments. The more Lee looks at the tattoo, the more pleased with it he is - not least because it gives him the perfect excuse to ogle Richard's bicep - but waiting for Richard's reaction takes just a little too long. "What do you think?" he can't help prodding anxiously. "Is it what you hoped for?"

Under different circumstances, Richard might have smiled at Lee's impatience, but not this time. "Bloody hell, Lee," he says wholeheartedly, as his eyes keep flicking back and forth between the mirror and his arm. "I knew you'd do amazingly, but this exceeds even my highest expectations."

Lee breathes out slowly, relief flooding his chest. "Honest?"

"Yes, honest." Richard curls his hand around the back of Lee's neck and pulls him closer for a kiss. "You're a marvel, Lee, and now I'll always have something on my body to remind me how special you are to me, should I ever be in danger of forgetting - but I estimate the chances of that happening about zero."

Once he's given Richard time to admire his new piece, Lee takes the precautionary steps of applying ointment and bandaging Richard's arm. This too would normally be Aidan's task, but now that it's over and everything has gone well, Lee is gladder than ever that Richard asked for the tattoo to be done at home - it makes the whole experience that much more personal and memorable. "How does it feel?" he inquires as Richard flexes his arm experimentally, and he takes off his gloves and bins them with a small sigh of relief.

"Hmm, yes, it's quite sore." Richard gives him an exaggerated pout, laying it on just a little too thick for it to be completely genuine. "It burns rather a lot."

"Does it, now?" Not missing a beat, Lee pushes his chair back and reaches over to place a hand on Richard's knee, letting it crawl slowly upward and watching Richard's eyes latch on to the movement. "We'll have to find a way to take your mind off the pain then, you poor hurting thing." He gets up from his chair and swings his leg over both of Richard's, sliding easily into his lap and winding his arms around his neck. "And I think I know just the remedy."

The chair creaks precariously under their combined weight, but neither Lee nor Richard pays much attention to its plight, too occupied with the way their bodies press together as Lee moves his mouth unhurriedly down Richard's neck. It may not be sturdy enough to withstand being rattled during some vigorous riding sex, something Lee makes a mental note of for future endeavors. "Your heart is still racing," he observes huskily, feeling the frantic flutter of Richard's pulse against his lips.

"Not the pain this time," Richard rasps as he tugs Lee closer by his waist. "Definitely not the pain."

Want flares between them, fast and hot and unstoppable, possibly the result of suppressed sexual tension Lee couldn't allow himself to acknowledge while he was tattooing, bottled up during the day like pressure building inside a cooker and now being released all at once, in a rush of heady arousal neither of them can ignore. Lee plants his feet firmly on the floor and joins his hands behind the back of Richard's neck for leverage before grinding his hips down deliberately slowly. He doesn't take his eyes off Richard's face even for a second, watching his eyelashes flutter rapidly as he repeats the movement, sinuously rubbing his ass into his lap and against the pronounced bulge that is rapidly taking shape there. "You're hard," he murmurs, twisting his fingers into Richard's hair and idly caressing the soft nape of his neck.

"No small wonder." Richard licks his lips and blinks, trying to focus his dazed eyes on Lee's face. "Is it the first time this has happened?"

"The first time someone's been turned on in my chair with the ink still drying?" Lee smiles and rotates his hips more sharply, only to be rewarded by a moan and a small, involuntary thrust of Richard's hips up into him. As restricted as Richard in his movements, he uses all the room he has, and the chair protests audibly. "Or the first time I've lunged on a client afterwards?"

"Uh - both, I guess."

"Definitely the first time - on both counts. Well, at least as far as I know. But then, most of my customers aren't so devastatingly sexy that it distracts me from the job." He reaches down and gives Richard's untattooed bicep an appreciative squeeze.

"Enough with the flattery," Richard chides, the tail end of his sentence trailing off into a gasp. With Lee still moving continuously in his lap, the friction between their bodies is starting to waver on the edge between exquisite and too much.

"It's not flattery if it's true," Lee insists. "God, Rich, you don't know half how fucking sexy you are, and far be it from me to toot my own horn but that tattoo looks so hot on you. You'll be fighting suitors off with a stick if you weren't already, and me along with them."

"Do you see me fighting you off now?" Richard takes Lee's chin between his fingers and captures his mouth in a heated kiss, coaxing his jaw further open to tease his tongue inside. The hot slide of it is intoxicating, sending shards of pleasure like electric currents down Lee's spine and making it all the harder to pull away.

"In all seriousness, Richard," he continues, cupping Richard's jaw in his hand and smiling at the dissatisfied look he gets, "thank you for letting me do this. It means a lot to me, knowing that you trust me that much."

"Of course I trust you. Why wouldn't I?" It is, almost to the letter, the same thing Richard told him that first morning several months ago, shortly after they began this thing, and this time - unlike before - the words don't scare Lee in the slightest.

"I feel kinda special, being asked to do your first," he drawls, shifting none-too-casually in Richard's lap and feeling the grip on his waist tighten. "And you did very well for a virgin. I hope I succeeded in making the occasion a memorable one."

"Uhh- well..." Richard appears to have to search for words, a struggle with which Lee can definitely empathize. Coherency and persistent grinding don't go together that well. After a moment he finally rasps, "Yeah, I'd say you're doing okay with that so far."

"Good." Lee tilts Richard's face up slightly to brush their lips together, reveling in the way Richard presses up against him in an attempt to increase contact. "How about we move this to the bed, then? I really," - he punctuates the word with a firmer kiss -, "really want to suck you off."

It is no big surprise that Richard comes only too willingly, allowing Lee to pull him to his feet and curl an arm around his waist to guide him to the bedroom. Lee spares the briefest of moments to glance back at his improvised work station and mentally berate himself for leaving his tools in disarray like this - it is glaringly unprofessional - but these thoughts quickly fade from his mind as he finds distraction in the way Richard's well-worn black sweats are tenting at the front and the kisses he tries to coax Lee into giving him en route to the bedroom. He succeeds in his attempts, it goes without saying, and for several long, pleasurable moments Lee gets to luxuriate in the addictive moist heat of Richard's mouth, the needy slide of their tongues and press of their bodies against one another. He briefly considers tugging Richard's sweats down and getting to his knees right there (after all, the bed is not an absolute requisite for what he has in mind - a standing up blow job has some indisputable benefits of its own, setting himself the challenge of getting Richard's legs to give out not the least of them), but then he has another idea that causes him to reconsider.

So he spins Richard around to face away from him - grinning wickedly at the small whimper Richard gives to protest this development and the way he tries to keep kissing Lee over his shoulder - and wraps one arm around Richard's chest while stroking his hip with his free hand, casually thumbing the waistband of his sweats. "Did you like watching me put that tat on you, baby?" he murmurs into Richard's ear, delighting in the shudder his words cause to run through Richard's body. It has something warm blooming in his belly, a need to do all manner of things that make Richard respond just like this.

The response is breathy and instantaneous. "Uh huh."

Lee slides his fingers to the front, blithely ignoring the prominent jut of Richard's erection and pulling at one end of the drawstring to slowly unravel the simple knot. "I enjoyed it too. In fact, it turned me on, marking you like that; knowing that you'll always have something on your body to remind you of me, to remind you of this night. Which, by the way, is far from being over."

All Richard manages in response is a single nod, his breath catching in his throat when the knot at the front of his sweats comes loose and Lee slides his hand underneath the waistband to wrap it around his cock. The heat and weight of it feels incredible in his palm, and he starts moving undemandingly, not letting things progress beyond casual, smooth rolling motions of his wrist that, paired with the dirty little whispers pouring from his mouth and the continued grinding of his hips, quickly have Richard's knees buckling perilously.

"Please, Lee, need more," he gasps, trying to simultaneously push himself into the frustratingly loose grip of Lee's hand and back against his front. Yes, Lee is hard too, but he won't let that distract him from his mission to get Richard into a state of pure physical need, make him moan and beg until he's out of breath and then knock him out with an orgasm unlike any he's ever experienced before. By the time Lee is done with him, that sore arm will be the last thing on his mind.

"If you have any requests," Lee continues, squeezing just under the head of Richard's cock and giving the tip a lazy swipe with his thumb, "now would be the time to tell me. No guarantees, mind, but I'll see what I can do to incorporate them into the plans I have for you."

"Oh, god." Richard's head lolls back heavily against Lee's shoulder, unconsciously offering up his neck to be kissed and marked by teeth, a task Lee promptly sets out to accomplish with diligence. "When you suck me off, I want you to do all the things with your tongue that I like."

"Okay." Lee, busy trailing a path of kisses from Richard's ear to the slope of his shoulder, pauses to nip at one of the prominent tendons and slowly suck a bruise into the skin. "What else? Tell me more."

Slowly, word by stuttered word, Richard gives it all up. "I want you to lick my balls. I want you to take them in your mouth and suck on them. I want to hear all the noises you make doing it because they fucking turn me on like nothing else. I want to feel those long, amazing fingers inside me, touching me where I need it."

"Like the first time I did that for you in the shower that morning," Lee fondly reminisces out loud, remembering vividly how much Richard had loved being sucked off with two fingers pressed up firmly against his prostate, both then and every time it had happened since. He has no doubt that those satisfying results will be replicated once more to the tenth degree, given the state that Richard is in already - god, but is the man enjoying himself, nearly coming apart at the languid slide of Lee's hand and the gentle sting of his teeth. (The long drought has certainly proven beneficial in more than one respect, having given them both a whole new appreciation of intimacy and sex in all its facets, and now that they are slowly reintroducing sex back into their lives, Lee is astounded at how much room for improvement and variety there still was.) "Like you did for me last night. Is that what you need, baby?"

More nodding and a response that is more a needy sigh than an actual word. _"Yes."_

"I think we can manage that." Lee gives one final, firm pull with his hand and then slips it out of Richard's sweats, smiling at the muted wail of frustration this earns him. "Off to the bedroom with you, come on."

It takes only a few more steps to get there, and Lee wastes no time getting Richard installed in front of the tall mirror, positioning him so that he is facing his own reflection. Lee stands behind him and watches him closely in the mirror, looking for the slightest sign of unease as he inches Richard's sweats down his hips, but the flush that appears on his face as Lee's fingers trail idly along his now exposed cock seems to be one of arousal rather than embarrassment.

"See how gorgeous," Lee murmurs as he rubs his fingers across the head at the end of each stroke to spread out the slickness and move his hand more smoothly, to Richard's clear delight. He looks over his shoulder to verify that the bottle of lube is still on the nightstand where they left it, making a mental note to lunge for it as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

"Please, faster," Richard spurs him on, and Lee humors him, knowing how much Richard loves the sound Lee's hand makes as it moves rhythmically along his length. Lee is pretty partial to it himself - between that and the spellbinding sight of Richard's flushed, shiny cockhead slipping through his fist, he really couldn't pick a favorite. Richard seems taken with it too, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he stares at Lee's hand patiently working him over, small whimpers of pleasure escaping his throat.

It doesn't take Lee long at all to bring him within a few inches of the brink - he can tell exactly when Richard is about to reach that tipping point - but that is where he starts to ease off. Taking things any further than this so soon would greatly upset his plans.

"Look at you," he breathes as he kisses Richard's neck and jaw, slack with want, "so flustered and desperate from just my hand, dying for me to let you come. I know how badly you want it, baby, but I'm not going to take you there just yet. First, I'm going to make you feel so much better." He slows his strokes almost to a halt, ignoring the way Richard squirms and moves his hips desperately to protest the loss of friction. Instead, he lifts his fingers to Richard's chin and tilts his face up until their eyes meet in the mirror.

"Stay here," he tells him softly. "Don't move. I'll only be a moment."

He leaves Richard standing in front of the mirror - hands clenched by his sides as if he's physically restraining himself from continuing what Lee started - and makes a dash for the lube. It is a new flavor they are trying out, Peaches 'n Scream, having thrown out their old favorite Cherry Delight at Fran's recommendation, as the scent might act as a trigger. (As a precaution, they'd also gotten the Oh My Mango and the Velvet Apple after Richard expressed concern that their first choice was more reminiscent of a bad Halloween pun than a legitimate sex product, something Lee couldn't unsee once Richard had made the comment, but so far the peach had done its job commendably and certainly lived up to its prophetic name.)

"Aren't we going to lie down for this?" Richard asks tentatively as Lee grabs a pillow from the chair to put under his knees and installs himself on the floor in front of him. The lube he puts to the side for now.

"Not yet." He shakes his head, easing Richard's sagging sweats further down his legs and then all the way off. "For now we're going to stay here, and you're going to watch yourself in the mirror getting the best head of your life to date." He smirks up at Richard's face, enjoying the way Richard's eyes darken at the suggestion. "And yes, I know I've set the bar high for myself, but I'm pretty confident in my ability to improve on my previous work and swallow every inch of this beautiful big cock until you need to come so bad you'll be begging for it." Richard's cock twitches impatiently in response to these words, and Lee's grin broadens. "I see you like that idea. Good."

Richard licks his lips. "Lee."

"Yes, baby?"

"Much as I love hearing you say filthy things, I would much rather you act on them." He reaches down and touches Lee's lower lip with his thumb, parting it from the top one. "Please?"

"Mmmm." Lee nips at Richard's thumb playfully and catches it between his lips, slowly sucking the digit into his mouth and curling his tongue around it before letting it slide out wet. "I just realized that there is one thing I forgot to do. An very important thing."

Richard gazes at him uncomprehendingly, clearly confused as to what he could mean, until Lee sits back and grasps his T-shirt by the hem, working it up along his torso. He doesn't make a striptease of it this time - anxious to shift the focus off himself and back to Richard - but damn if the way Richard's eyes rake over his chest and shoulders doesn't make him feel amazing in his own skin just like it always does.

"There," he says, taking Richard's cock in one hand as he moves into position and glances archly up at him. "Now we can begin."

He starts tentatively, exploring the territory with a series of experimental strokes and pulls interspersed with long, savoring licks. Deliberately avoiding the head with his tongue, he uses his fingers to massage out the stringy beads of precome welling up at the slit and wipes them off with his thumb, which he then lifts to his mouth and licks with relish. As much as he appreciates the perks of lube and enjoys being playful with it, nothing beats this, the uncensored taste of Richard's body - skin and come and the slight bitterness of sweat - with no artificial flavors to mask it or detract from it.

That muskiness gets stronger the lower Lee ventures, angling Richard's cock upright and continuing to jerk him off slowly as he shifts his attention to what's underneath. Richard's request surprised him a little bit - it certainly isn't the first time Lee has paid his balls any particular attention, but he can't remember Richard ever explicitly asking for it before. Then again, Richard seems much more communicative in general lately, more comfortable vocalizing his thoughts, wants and needs - surely a result of their meetings with Fran - and Lee is sure that it's doing their relationship, as well as their sex life, a world of good.

But he is in no particular rush to comply, unhurriedly moving his hand along Richard's cock as he mouths his scrotum and flicks his eyes up, making sure he has his full attention (as if Richard would even be remotely interested in something other than Lee's mouth between his legs) before introducing his tongue. He lets it follow the crease down the center and trace each of the bulbous shapes within, delighting in the way Richard is moaning above him and clearly struggling to resist pushing into Lee's hand. Lee decides to indulge him, and on the next upstroke he tightens his fingers around the slick head and twists sharply, gratified to hear the deep groan it wrenches from Richard's throat. Eager for more of these incredible sounds, he repeats the motion and picks one of Richard's balls to take into his mouth and suck on gently (and then a little less gently, knowing that the wet warmth and varying pressure of his mouth will make Richard's hips jerk involuntarily like an electric current is running through them). After a few moments he does the same for the other and then continues taking turns on them for a while, sparing a moment to wonder just how tender Richard's balls will be in the morning.

He is so preoccupied with these enjoyable endeavors that his hand has slowed almost to a halt, a great offence if Richard's vocal - but not very coherent - objections are anything to go by. "Lee, c'mon," he eventually whines, carding his fingers through Lee's hair and scrabbling at his scalp ineffectually, "please, gimme your mouth now, use your mouth."

Lee angles his face up to him, giving as innocent a smile as he can with one of Richard's balls still filling his mouth. He sucks once more, quite pointedly, and then lets it slip free. "I thought I was doing just that, baby."

Richard smiles at him - rather exasperatedly so, but it is a smile nonetheless - and strokes his fingers down his cheek surprisingly gently. "On my cock, I meant, as you know full well."

Lee feels, irrationally, a jolt of arousal spiking down his spine, and he makes a mental note to get Fran a lavish gift by the end of therapy just for her excellent work in getting Richard more comfortable talking about the things he wants in the bedroom (something for which Lee is quite selfishly grateful, because damn, hearing that man talk dirty and not mince words is a turn on like nothing else).

So he gives Richard what must be a decidedly salacious smile and resumes working him over with firm but leisurely pulls, quickly reintroducing his tongue into the proceedings. He alternates broad, lazy strokes with the insistent rubs and teasing curls he knows turn Richard's knees to jelly, sneaking glances up at Richard's face every so often to see his gaze flittering between Lee's mouth and their reflections in the mirror, fingers moving restlessly through Lee's hair and all across his shoulders. Once Lee decides to up the stakes, he waits for Richard to look down at him directly before sliding the head in the first few inches, Richard's fingers tightening in his hair briefly and dragging a moan from his throat.

"Shit, sorry." Richard's fingers immediately disappear from his hair, but Lee reaches for his retreating hand and guides it back, splaying the fingers so that they cup the back of his scalp. He looks up pointedly as he does so and moans again to communicate that it is okay, that Richard can touch his head and even provide gentle guidance with the pressure of his fingers. And Richard licks his lips and nods to indicate that he's understood, but his touch remains hesitant as Lee takes him deeper and starts to build a slow pace. It isn't until Lee sits back slightly and looks up again, keeping only the head in his mouth and working it unhurriedly with his tongue, that Richard's hand becomes a more active participant rather than a dead weight on the back of Lee's head. If it is the trust he sees in Lee's eyes or something else, Lee doesn't know, but he can see on Richard's face the moment he starts moving past his fear, the pressure of his fingers increasing slightly as if to ask for more. Lee obliges immediately, sliding forward an inch or two before the pressure disappears and giving a moan that Richard should definitely interpret as one of encouragement.

It is a slow and careful dance they're performing, of gentle pushing and pulling, figuring out the steps as they go and trying different speeds and rhythms with Lee looking up to give Richard as many reassuring glances as he can manage. But eventually even the need for that dissipates as they reach a point where it is Richard who is setting the pace, using only his fingers to guide Lee along his cock. Even then he is watching Lee's face carefully, looking for the first sign of discomfort, but Lee more than enjoys the role reversal, however briefly it lasts. It is also Richard who eventually transfers his hand to Lee's shoulder (making a brief stop to brush his cheek along the way) to indicate that this is all the control he feels comfortable with for now. "I love you so much," he breathes, surprising Lee (and possibly himself) with the timing of the words and adding with a sheepish little smile, as if embarrassed by the abrupt transition, "uh... your fingers?"

As perfect an opportunity as it is, in that moment it doesn't even occur to Lee to tease him, instead he just nods and scrabbles for the lube, squirting a more than generous amount onto his slightly shaking fingers (and quite possibly spilling some on the carpet in the process). He rubs them to warm them up - how he remembers to do this in his urgency he doesn't have a clue - and slides them up between Richard's legs, tipping his head back to look at his face.

"Give me two," Richard breathes, begs almost, "it's okay, I can take it," but Lee shakes his head, determined not to let this reckless, aching need get the better of him.

"No, it's been too long. I don't want to hurt you."

Richard moans impatiently as the first finger nudges inside, encountering a moment's resistance before slipping in past the first knuckle. "Please, more," he implores, but Lee won't be rushed, slowly working his way in deeper and biting his lip to keep from moaning himself when he feels the strength of Richard's muscles bearing down on him, so goddamn hot and tight that it makes his already rigid cock grow excruciatingly harder. And Richard is loving every second of it, head tipped back and mouth open, his hand on Lee's shoulder squeezing intermittently. When Lee's finger is buried up to the last knuckle and crooks to the front, his cock responds with an angry twitch.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," he gasps, stomach clenching as he pivots his hips desperately to get a firmer press. "I fucking need that, baby, please."

Encouraged by these responses, Lee slowly works up to two and then three fingers, adding more lube until it's running greasily down his wrist and the sounds his fingers make as they twist inside Richard and spread him open are positively sinful. With his other hand he is jerking Richard off, sloppy slides of his hand that he tries to match to the frantic rolling motions of Richard's pelvis. Watching Richard bounce up and down like this, a film of sweat covering his chest as he fucks himself on Lee's fingers like a man entranced, is just about the most arousing thing he's ever seen and he tells Richard as much before leaning in with the intention to take him down his throat and work his mouth on him until he comes shouting, but here Richard stops him unexpectedly.

"Wait, wait," he pants, fingers squeezing Lee's shoulders. "If you do that, it'll be over in a few seconds flat."

"That's okay, baby," Lee assures him with a wicked smile. "You've held out a long time. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of. And this doesn't have to mean the night is over. I can make you come as many times as you can handle."

Richard shakes his head, his eyes having difficulty focusing on Lee's face. "You asked if I had any requests, earlier."

Lee blinks, unsure where this is going but giving an encouraging nod. "Yeah?"

"Well..." Richard traces the line of Lee's jaw with his thumb pensively. "There is something else. Something I can't stop thinking about."

Lee can see Richard gearing up for whatever it is he wants to say, and wonders somewhat amusedly what it might be. "Go on, baby, you can tell me. Whatever it is, I won't judge."

"I want you in me." Richard swallows, a touch of a blush that is not due to arousal tinting his cheeks, but he plunges on, elaborating just in case his initial statement wasn't clear, "I want to finish with you inside me, fucking me."

Lee gapes up at him, faintly aware of the fact that his fingers are still buried inside Richard and pressed up obscenely against his prostate. This request comes out of left field, though he's not sure why it should. It's not as if Richard has ever expressed any unwillingness to receive, but once they settled into their roles it never really occurred to Lee to suggest a reversal.

Seeing the look of pure want in Richard's eyes - and feeling the wild flip his stomach does at the thought - he realizes now what an oversight that was.

"Are you sure?" He sits back a bit to be able to look into Richard's eyes more fully. "Have you done that before?" He feels silly for having to ask - apparently there are still things left to discover about each other's sexual pasts.

Richard nods. "The last time was a few years ago, but yeah - I am sure. I want you, Lee. I want to watch your face and feel your cock inside me when you come. It's something I've been thinking about for a while. I should probably have mentioned it before rather than putting you on the spot like this, but-" He appears to be losing his nerve as he speaks. "If it's not something you want or are ready for, please say so, it's okay, I understand-"

Lee hoists himself to his feet, cupping his head in his hands and kissing him gently. "I'd enjoy that," he tells him, feeling the breath of relief Richard lets out against his lips. "It's been a while for me too, though, so how about we go slow?"

"Slow sounds perfect." Richard gives him a sweet, almost nervous little smile and for a moment they stand forehead to forehead, considering the step they are about to take. "You're really sure?" he can't help double checking, pulling back slightly to look into Lee's eyes.

And Lee responds with a smile of his own, kissing Richard's eyes and nose and lips. "I'm sure."

Richard helps Lee out of his remaining clothes and they settle on the bed - the lingering warmth of the summer day rendering the covers unnecessary - where they proceed to hug each other close and stay like that for a few long, quiet moments, Richard nestled with his back against Lee's front. Oddly - given what preceded it and what is about to follow - it is probably the most tender cuddle session they have shared to date, but Lee suspects that the slow petting and kissing serves to calm their nerves just as much as it is a way for them to acknowledge that what they are about to do is not without significance. On the contrary, it is a weighty decision Lee nonetheless feels they are ready for.

Breaking from the embrace as little as possible, he eventually reaches behind him and takes a condom from the box they keep in the drawer, using his teeth to tear open the wrapper and slipping it on. He spares a fleeting moment of gratitude for remembering to bring the lube to the bed and slicks himself up thoroughly as they fall into a long, involved kiss that grows increasingly more heated. "Ready?" he murmurs against Richard's mouth, receiving an earnest nod in response, but when he starts to roll Richard over to face up, Richard stops him.

"No," he says softly, twisting his upper body around for eye contact and raising his top leg, nodding at Lee to indicate this is what he wants. "Like this?"

"Okay," Lee agrees, just as quietly, as he scoots closer and lines up, leaning across to brush their lips together. "I love you."

"I love you."

Lee pulls back slightly from the kiss to look at Richard's face as he begins to slowly push in the first few inches. The slick tightness and heat he encounters feel incredible, and it is for his own sake as well as for Richard's that he pauses once the head is in. "Okay?" he checks, and Richard nods, unable to speak, a thin film of sweat on his upper lip that Lee can't help but kiss away, only to have his bottom one taken between Richard's teeth. Groaning softly, he slips his arm under Richard's raised leg and holds it up as he pushes in further. It is oh so slow and lovely and good and fucking electrifying, the feeling of Richard's muscles yielding to him kindling a kernel of pulsing white heat in the pit of Lee's belly, and he doesn't pause until he's sheathed as fully as he can be, knowing that this is a moment he'll remember forever.

"Oh shit, Richard, fuck," he gushes, leaving kisses all over Richard's face and pressing their foreheads together. "You feel fucking incredible."

"I love you." Previously using the words sparingly, now Richard can't seem to stop saying them as he wraps his hand around the back of Lee's neck and threads his fingers into his hair, and fuck if Lee isn't echoing them word for word every single time. "God, I love you."

After a long, savoring moment Lee pulls back slowly until the crown pops free and only the very tip remains inside, and then he waits a few beats, secretly wishing he could make this last for hours even as his cock twitches impatiently, raring to be encased once more. So he caves and pushes back in, not stopping this time, and watches Richard's face crumple with euphoria as he slides home, down to the very root. The sensation isn't any less incredible than it was the first time, and Lee buries his face into the crook of Richard's neck briefly, clutching Richard's leg like it's a life raft. He is babbling again, spouting nonsense about how unbelievably good it feels, but Richard doesn't seem to mind the repetitive nattering, trying instead to bend his leg in an angle that doesn't seem humanly possible as he angles himself against Lee in an attempt to take him deeper.

"More," he rasps, squirming desperately and stretching his neck to reach for Lee's mouth with his own. "Lee, for god's sake, fuck me."

It is not a plea Lee feels capable of resisting. Propping himself back up on his elbow and using Richard's leg to anchor himself, he does as he is asked and starts building up a regular rhythm of fucking while Richard watches him with hooded eyes and open mouth puffy from kissing and biting. It is a positively sinful sight and Lee drinks it in greedily, registering all of the little expressions flickering across Richard's face and marveling at the fact that it is him that is putting that flush on Richard's cheeks, his cock that is reducing the man to these wanton gasps and pleas. It only spurs him on to try and get more of these responses, and once he feels confident enough to start punctuating his thrusts more sharply and aiming them to the front, Richard's litany of bitten-off moans and expletives tells him that he's definitely on the right track. The triumph he feels for being able to wring these sounds from Richard's throat is almost as intoxicating as the fucking itself, and he tells Richard this as he is busy littering his shoulder and neck with kisses, getting a breathless grin in return.

He also discovers that when he leans down and flicks Richard's nipple with his tongue, taking it into his mouth and suckling, Richard jerks and clenches around him in the most amazing way, and he experiments with this too, cataloguing all of these responses thoroughly for next time. (He doesn't know yet if there will be a next time, but from Richard's side of things the signs certainly are promising.)

"Are you close, baby?" he asks as he kisses his way back up to Richard's neck. He can tell even without having to look that Richard is jerking himself off in time with his thrusts and wishes he had a hand to spare to take over.

The response comes through gritted teeth. "I feel like I've been close for hours."

Lee grins apologetically. "Sorry."

"What the hell are you apologizing for? You could fuck me like this all night if you wanted, with no complaints from me." Richard's impish grin is a perfect match for Lee's. "I just don't think I have the stamina. Actually, I don't think I would have had the stamina when I was twenty years younger." The words dissolve into another strangled moan when Lee's cock nudges him just right, arousal contorting his face into a grimace. "Fuck, yeah, right there."

"Right there, yeah?" Lee pulls back and readjusts his hold on Richard's leg before replicating the angle as best he can and fucking in with a series of snappy thrusts that leave Richard struggling for breath. "Is that where you need it, baby? Is that where you need my cock?"

Richard answers with a desperate, crushing kiss, his tongue pressing hotly into Lee's mouth until Lee's vision starts going dark around the edges and he has to pull back for air. His arm is starting to ache from the strain of holding Richard's leg up and it is becoming increasingly more difficult to thrust as fully as he wants to, but he barely notices these little discomforts and restrictions, moving as though in a trance with his face tucked into the crook of Richard's shoulder as he blurts one nonsensical praise word after another.

Of course, that is when Richard decides to make his next request.

"Need more," he babbles, winding his fingers into Lee's hair and pulling his head back until Lee's bleary gaze meets his. "Lee, look at me."

"What?" Lee asks dazedly, distracted by the red plushness of Richard's mouth (as well as by, oh, a few other things). Irrationally, worry that he's not performing adequately, that he's leaving things to be desired, flares inside him. "What's wrong?"

Some of his alarm must have shown on his face, because Richard uses his fingers to guide him closer and kisses him - a little less violently than before, but still with plenty of force, enough to get his point across and lay to rest any and all of Lee's insecurities. "I just need you to give me more, baby," he elaborates huskily, nipping slowly along Lee's bottom lip and easing the sting with little swipes of his tongue and brushes of his lips. "More of you, more of that sexy cock fucking me. That's how I want to come, with you giving it to me hard and rough. I promise I'll take it like a man."

Richard begging for cock like this - in that voice, and with that roguish little smile curving his lips - has Lee's guts churning with pure need, and he has trouble untying his tongue long enough to croak his answer. "If the birthday boy wants it rough, he can get it rough."

He moves promptly, as if his body has quietly been waiting for an opportunity to mix things up, rolling onto his knees in one sure move and separating Richard's legs further as he straddles one and guides the other up over his shoulder. And damn, he would be lying if he said that the little gasp of surprise escaping Richard's mouth and the wide-eyed gaze he gives Lee don't send lust like an electric current down his spine, sparking something deep within his belly - a previously dormant urge he's surprised to find within himself. "Like this?" he checks, not entirely sure how to interpret Richard's expression, although the wide-blown pupils seem an encouraging sign.

"Yes." It is barely more than a whisper, Richard's hand working on his cock with careless, distracted pulls as he stares up at Lee enraptured. "God, yes, like this."

Bending Richard's leg back as far as it will go, Lee slowly feeds his cock back in, leaning forward so as not to miss Richard's sharp intake of breath as it goes in all the way down to the hilt. God, it feels incredible. Lee doesn't mind admitting to himself that being buried this deep and knowing that Richard can feel everything - can feel his balls nestled against his ass and his cock pulsing inside him - is a thrill like nothing he's ever experienced. "Not too much?"

Richard shakes his head, tossing it left and right on the pillow somewhat uncoordinatedly, and works his mouth as if to moisten it before he speaks. "No, fuck no," he replies hoarsely, "it's exactly what I need, baby. God, your cock fills me so good."

Lee crosses the final few inches to kiss him, drawing Richard's bottom lip between his teeth and nipping it. "Pretty damn flexible still for an old man," he teases, gently stroking Richard's leg where it is pressed between their bodies, and Richard huffs out a chuckle at that, the only response he's capable of. Once Lee sits up again and moves back, his eyes are inexorably drawn to the sight of his cock reappearing from Richard's body, slick and shiny with lube. It is not a view he was able to fully appreciate in their previous position, and it keeps him enthralled as he starts to move. (The condom is a jarring addition, and he files away a mental note to call his GP first thing tomorrow and to remind Richard to do the same - the sooner they get their test results back, the better.)

"God, Rich," he grits out after the first few, mesmerizing thrusts. "You have no idea how amazing you look taking my cock like this." He feels around on the bed until he locates the bottle of lube, squeezing some onto his fingers before joining Richard's hand on his cock, lacing their fingers together and timing the pace of their strokes to that of his undulating hips. All Richard can do at this point is let Lee take full control, and he seems more than happy to do so, if the arching of his spine and the rising volume of his moans are anything to go by.

"Is this how you want it, baby?" Lee croons, decelerating briefly and watching the unhurried, savoring drag of his cock as it almost, _almost_ slips free of Richard's body. Richard's whine of protest gets cut in half when Lee's hips snap into him unexpectedly. "Is this how you need to be fucked?"

He can feel Richard trembling around him, glazed-over eyes blinking to regain some of their focus. "God, I feel you in me so deep," Richard groans, the words nearly pushing Lee over the edge there and then. "Just fucking give it to me harder, Lee, please - I need to come, please just let me come before you kill me, you bloody bastard."

Lee grins and immediately picks up the pace again. "Not exactly the sweet honeyed pleas I was hoping for, but it'll do."

He knows that it will be over soon now, and much as that thought fills him with regret, he too has been pushed within an inch of his limit - and it isn't like the night is necessarily at an end after this. Through his haze, he feels Richard's fingers untangling from his and reaching up to his chest, traveling restlessly between Lee's tattoos and his nipples before finally settling on one of his thighs, mirroring the other hand which has been idly clutching the opposite leg for a while. The complete control he's being given spurs Lee into a faster pace, trying to aim his thrusts just so and moving his hand insistently along Richard's cock as he watches his face closely for clues, praying that he'll last long enough to get Richard there first. He can feel his orgasm building in his belly and knows that he won't be able to stave it off much longer.

He can tell the exact moment Richard goes over the edge - it is in his face and his choked-out cry and most importantly, in the ripple that starts deep within his belly and the muscles that clench and squeeze around Lee's cock erratically. Seeing and feeling Richard climax, stroking him through the convulsions as his come pulses out of him thickly, Lee can barely hold on for more than a few beats before his own orgasm crashes over him, the white hot pressure building in his loins leaving him in powerful rushes. And even through that, he can hear Richard moaning weakly and feel his hips twitch up as if trying to take him deeper.

Lee really can't stay upright after that, and the moment he feels Richard's hands reaching for him, pulling him down, he goes - collapses, rather - and sighs with relief as he sinks heavily into the bed and Richard's arms, wondering foggily if he'll ever be able to move again.

"Lee," Richard says later, as they lie entangled in a confusion of limbs, bodies pressed together stickily but neither of them giving a fuck. His voice is low and scratchy from the exertion (which Lee considers to be quite a compliment, because Richard has a robust voice that rarely is affected by anything, even colds, but apparently a vigorous enough fuck does the trick). "I need you to promise me one thing."

"Mmm?" Lee is in a place of absolute bliss with Richard tucked against him like this, a perfect fit from head to toe, and although his mind is lazily entertaining thoughts of a relaxing back rub (for Richard, although he wouldn't mind receiving either) he's perfectly happy for now to just lie here like this and not move until he has to. "What's that?"

"Promise me this wasn't just a birthday treat." Richard smiles against his shoulder and tugs him closer by the waist, sighing in what appears to be complete and utter contentment. "Because quite honestly, love, I don't think I can wait a whole fucking year for you to have your way with me like that again."

"Baby," Lee says wholeheartedly once his stomach recovers from the excited whirl Richard's words sent it into. "Believe me, a whole fucking day seems too long right now."


	35. Ibis

It may not have been his own idea, Lee thinks somewhat dazedly as he watches as though enthralled the spectacle unfolding in front of him - the mesmerizing, sinuous twist of Richard's spine, skin glistening with sweat and slippery in the grasp of Lee's fingers as he desperately pushes his ass back onto Lee’s cock in a bid for a faster pace, trying to take him deeper on each of Lee's unhurried, carefully measured thrusts - but he is pretty sure that he made the smartest and most rewarding decision of his life to date when he agreed to sign up for sex therapy with this man.

It's not that the sex with Luke hadn't been good (or even great) on occasion, especially in the early days, but this - being intimate with Richard in all the different ways, old and new, they've been exploring recently - is on a level of its own, even more so now than it was when they first started dating. And although they are making a conscious effort to keep taking things slow in terms of actual fucking (which they only reintroduced a little over a week ago) and not make the same careless mistakes that set them back so dramatically the first time around, tonight they are going all out, Lee enraptured by the incredible clenching of Richard's muscles around his cock and fighting a constant inner struggle to maintain a controlled pace rather than just letting go completely and fucking in furiously the way Richard keeps begging him to in no uncertain terms.

Then again, Lee muses while bracing one knee on the bed and shifting some of his weight onto it before snapping his hips forward at a slightly different angle - a change that is met by loud groans of approval from Richard and a catlike arching of his spine as he grips the covers to withstand the added force - this outpouring of sexual urgency is hardly surprising taken into account that they began with the foreplay that morning and have been working towards this release ever since, forced to spend the hours in between trying to pass for functioning members of society (albeit in Lee's case more so than Richard's).

Even now, with his cock buried deep inside Richard at last and his fingers woven into the man's hair possessively, Lee feels something warm and happy curl up within his chest at the thought of the long, lazy make-out session they'd luxuriated in that morning, so blissfully entwined and preoccupied with the slow kisses and sleepy, exploratory caresses they'd fallen into after waking up that Lee didn't remember he was supposed to get ready for work until the most inopportune moment - when they were lying on their sides nose to nose, hands wrapped around each other's cocks and leisurely jerking each other off as if they had all the time in the world. Only when Lee reached for the lube and his eye fell on the bedside clock - the alarm long since turned off - did he realize that they'd pleasantly whiled away the better part of the morning with not a single thought of time passing or responsibilities to meet.

Richard had been extremely unimpressed to say the least when Lee abruptly stopped what he was doing and leapt out of bed in utter dismay, cursing emphatically as he zoomed around the room in a mad scramble to get ready. To his credit, Richard had tactfully refrained from pointing out that Lee would be late for his first appointment of the day no matter how fast he moved, but his pout grew more pronounced with every piece of clothing Lee hastily slipped into, forcing his still hard cock into his briefs as best he could and zipping up his pants while shaking his head adamantly at Richard's suggestion that he call in sick and get back in bed to finish what they started.

"I'm terribly sorry about this, babe," he'd murmured remorsefully as he leaned over the bed for an apologetic parting kiss. Richard had not bothered to cover up and it was impossible not to notice how hard he still was, his cock swollen against his belly in flagrant protest against the sudden and unexpected interruption. "I'll make it up to you tonight ten times over, I promise."

Lee's own erection had wilted pretty swiftly and he'd raced his bike to work to find his first client prepped and quite happily installed in the chair with a magazine and a cup of coffee on the house. He had sent Evie a smile of gratitude for her excellent hostess duties as he bolted past her counter and received a half concerned, half critical eyebrow raise in return. It was only later, after they'd gone out to smoke a cigarette on the patio behind the shop, that Lee had told her the reason for his tardiness, at which point the worry creasing her brow had been permanently replaced by a pleased grin. Even though he hadn't fully confided in her about the reasons, she was well aware that he and Richard had hit a rough patch a while back and kept him under close watch. In the past, trouble on the relationship front had often presented a threat to his sobriety, and she had clearly been worried about a possible relapse.

(It was a worry he did not share, at least not anymore - after Richard's migraine attack and his resulting trip to the drugstore, pills had been further from Lee's mind than they had ever been. He had faced some kind of demon that day, and forced it into retreat. And god, what a liberating feeling it was.)

It was shortly after that smoke break, as Lee went to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee in the kitchen, that the first texts had started coming in, causing a racket of buzzing and beeping in his pocket. His phone was still vibrating frantically as he dug it up and swiped the screen to find out who it was, not surprised to see Richard's name flashing on the screen.

_New message: Rich  
I still can't believe you just ran out on me and left me like that this morning. Not cool._

_New message: Rich  
You haven't even been gone two hours and I'm already dying for you to get home and make good on your promise._

_New message: Rich  
All I've been able to think about since you left is how incredibly hot you get me when you fuck me with your tongue._

Lee accidentally inhaled a gulp of scalding hot coffee upon reading that unexpected last message, burning his tongue as a result, and he quickly reached for the tap to guzzle some cold water and gargle with a mouthful of it. Then he reread each of Richard's texts word for word to make sure he hadn't misread before typing a response.

 _Reply to: Rich_  
_Just so you know, I nearly snorted coffee through my nose just now reading that._

_Reply to: Rich  
More to the point: while I'm not going to deny how much I love how loudly it makes you moan, I'd like to point out that my tongue didn't go anywhere near your ass this morning. I can't remember the last time it did._

He had barely tapped the 'send' button when his phone buzzed again.

_New message: Rich_  
_Sadly, neither can I. That's exactly the problem._

_New message: Rich  
So if you really want to atone for your sins, there's a good place to start._

Before Lee could respond or even recover from the fact that Richard - _Richard_ \- was straight up asking for a rim job in a fucking text message, another one popped up on the screen.

 _New message: Rich_  
_And in case you were wondering, I've been jerking off almost non-stop since you left and no, it isn't doing it for me at all. I'm still bored and horny as fuck._

_New message: Rich  
Not to mention completely incapable of thinking about anything other than that incredible flicking thing you do with your tongue that I love, and the way you squeeze my ass and rub your beard against me as you lick me open._

At this, Lee's jaw dropped open in shock, and he swiftly covered his mouth with his hand to curtail the gasp escaping him as he glanced towards the door to make sure he was alone and not being overheard. With the other hand he quickly thumbed a reply.

 _Reply to: Rich_  
_Who are you and what have you done to my boyfriend? Fucking hell._

 _New message: Rich_  
_Should have done this way sooner. Much easier than telling you in person where I want you to put your tongue, and much more fun picturing your face as you read this._

_Reply to: Rich  
OK, you've made your point. I promise I'll put my tongue wherever you want me to, just please don't send me messages like these when I'm at work. It's incredibly distracting._

_New message: Rich  
Good. Serves you right. :P_

_Reply to: Rich  
Cut me some slack, Rich. I have a client to meet in five minutes and I can't be thinking of your ass when I do. I'll be home as soon as I can. I suggest you take a cold shower or keep yourself occupied with a good book until then._

When Richard didn't respond to his final message, Lee had assumed that was the end of the conversation, pocketed his phone and gone to meet his next client, a motherly middle-aged woman accompanied by an equally motherly - and equally chatty - girlfriend. He'd barely finished the outline of her tattoo (a butterfly caught in barbed wire) when the cacophony in his pocket started anew. He'd tried to ignore it to begin with, but the buzzing was loud and insistent enough that the two ladies heard and started commenting on it.

"Sounds like someone wants to reach you really badly, honey," one of them remarked conversationally. "Go on and take that if you want."

"No, it's nothing urgent," he replied, blushing even as the obnoxious muffled noises continued. "It's just my boyfriend. He's home alone today and doesn't appear to have anything better to do than blow up my phone with messages."

To his mortification, both women cooed as if it was the most adorable thing they'd ever heard and spent the next half hour peppering him with questions about Richard and insisting that he show them a picture later. As always, Lee was happy for an excuse to brag about Richard's many fine attributes, but at the same time he could not help but be distracted, his curiosity spiking higher with every incoming message, until the urge to rip off his gloves and reach for his phone to find out what the hell Richard was up to became near unbearable. He resisted, of course, but as soon as the last line of ink had gone in and Aidan came over to apply the bandage, Lee binned his gloves and checked his phone.

He had no less than 76 unopened messages to wade through, most of them a continuation of the conversation they'd been having before, elaborations on what Richard wanted to do - or be done to him - once Lee got off work (or preferably sooner, i.e. that very minute). The texts were shockingly descriptive in their detail, and Lee would be lying if he said that the way Richard unambiguously put his wishes out there for him to read and mull over didn't have desire twisting in his gut like a fiery-edged blade.

But it wasn't just an avalanche of texts that Richard had sent him. There was a picture waiting for him as well, and Lee nearly let his phone slip from his fingers when he saw it, a sudden rush of blood heating his cheeks.

_Oh, fuck me._

The client's friend noticed his flustered expression. "Everything all right, sweetie?" she asked kindly, and he hastily swiped to an older picture of Richard to show them, which prompted more pleased chirping from his unsuspecting audience (as well as a good-humored eye roll from Aidan).

It wasn't until after the women had paid and chatted to Evie for a couple of minutes and left that Lee could finally excuse himself and lock himself up in the bathroom to have a proper, uninterrupted look at the picture Richard had sent him.

The selfie - because that's what it was - showed him standing in front of the bedroom mirror, in a relaxed, unstudied pose that immediately struck Lee as being vaguely reminiscent of Michelangelo's _David_ \- an image Lee had a vivid memory of seeing in an art book when he was a teenager and trying to replicate in his sketchbook, with moderate success. Not unimportantly, Richard was stark naked in the picture, his erect cock curving up between his legs in that way that always made Lee's breath stutter in his throat a little. This time was no exception.

There was no message attached to the picture to offer explanation, but there was no need for one - the image itself spoke loud and clear.

_Reply to: Rich_  
_What the fuck are you doing?_

_New message: Rich_  
_I'm surprised you have to ask. Took you long enough to respond. Did you like the picture?_

_Reply to: Rich_  
_In case you'd forgotten, some of us are trying to do a job out here. Exactly how do you expect me to function with an image like that burned into my brain?_

_New message: Rich_  
_You didn't answer my question._

_Reply to: Rich_  
_I'm hiding in the bathroom with a raging hard on. How's that for an answer?_

_New message: Rich_  
_Picture? :)_

_New message: Rich_  
_Come on, Lee, don't be stingy. Throw a desperate guy a bone._

_Reply to: Rich_  
_As a reward for putting me through hell at work? I don't think so._

_New message: Rich_  
_:(_

_Reply to: Rich  
Now tell me you're not still beating off like a randy teenager._

_New message: Rich  
Why don't you come home and find out? Pop over for a quickie during your break._

Not bothering to respond to that suggestion, Lee took precautions and put his phone on mute, but that didn't mean that he was able to keep from obsessively checking his messages in between clients, and although Richard didn't send any more pictures after that his barrage of texts did not relent in the slightest, nor did their drift change throughout the day. In fact, he seemed to be taking Lee's pointed silence as a challenge, steadily getting more and more graphic about all the lurid thoughts passing through his head, which were countless (because clearly the man had decided that lying in bed thinking about sex and driving Lee absolutely mad with desire in the process was a perfectly acceptable way to spend the day).

This was not a side of Richard Lee had seen before, in fact this behavior was completely uncharacteristic of the man he'd come to know. Needless to say, he liked it - liked it a _lot_ \- and the day seemed to be taking an eternity to pass, with Lee oscillating continuously between trying to keep a professional mindset and spacing out in the middle of conversations, even with clients. Not five minutes went by that Richard's selfie or some of his incredible suggestions didn't pop into his head unbidden, causing him to promptly forget what he had been in the middle of doing or saying and putting him in some very awkward situations.

His preoccupation became so evident that Aidan (who, unlike Evie, had no idea as to what - or rather, who - the cause of his distraction might be) eventually asked him straight up if he was back on drugs, at which point Lee decided things had gone far enough - it was time to have a few stern words with the man responsible for his predicament and to put an end to it. So when his meal break finally rolled around, he made a quick run to the trattoria down the street for a takeaway pasta arrabbiata and then retired into the office announcing to the room at large that he had a few calls to make and didn't want to be disturbed. Aidan looked slightly suspicious still (Lee wondered if the lad actually thought he was going to crush and snort a nice cocktail of pills behind closed doors, something he would have to make sure to rectify later), but from the way Evie smirked at him from behind the counter, Lee could tell that she knew exactly who the recipient of his first (and only) call would be.

However, once settled behind his desk with his cartons of pasta and accompanying salad, he pulled out his phone only to find a new surprise waiting for him - a notification alerting him to the fact that Richard had sent him a video through Snapchat, with no clues whatsoever as to what the clip might entail (although the picture and the bombardment of texts that had gone before it had certainly set a titillating precedent).

Unsure, Lee let his finger hover over the screen for a few moments as he glanced at the closed office door. There was a very strong, decisive voice inside his head cautioning him not to click on the video - not, at least, if he wanted a glimmer of a chance of spending the rest of the day in a normal fashion rather than fantasizing about the many ways and positions he wanted to fuck Richard in at the end of it.

But - unsurprisingly - curiosity won out in the end, and he tapped the screen to play the file.

The image that first appeared was nothing too disconcerting - Richard had recorded himself lying on the bed face up, pointing the camera at himself. But the second the shaky video started playing, any and all of Lee's questions as to the nature of the clip were unequivocally answered - although only Richard's face and shoulders were visible, the sounds and faces he was making were unmistakably those of a man in the throes of orgasm or getting there fast. Over the past few weeks, Lee had had every opportunity to reacquaint himself with those little frowns and expressions flickering across Richard's face when he was skirting along that edge, and it was these - paired with the rapid, jerky movements of Richard's shoulder and the ruddy flush on his chest and the telltale pop of the vein in his neck - that made Lee forget his surroundings in an instant and sent a rapid rush of heat down to his groin.

The video was still running - and Lee still staring, mesmerized - when the office door opened unexpectedly and Aidan peeked inside, asking some inconsequential question about supplies that definitely could have waited until after his break. Startled by the intrusion, Lee reacted as if stung, closing the app with a panicked, lightning-fast swipe and praying to god that he had been quick enough that Aidan hadn't heard Richard's telltale moans emanating from his phone. He somehow managed to gather his wits long enough to blurt an answer that satisfied Aidan and reopened the app as soon as the door clicked shut, but the video was gone and all his frantic tapping couldn't bring it back.

"Fucking Aidan," he muttered, swiping through screens despite his better knowledge. "Fucking Richard. Fucking useless Snapchat."

Finally giving the video up for lost - and a damn shame it was, too, because god knew what he'd missed out on (he definitely wouldn’t have put it past Richard to deliberately throw in a moan of Lee's name at some point, knowing full well how strongly Lee responded to that when they were in the frenzy of fucking or when Lee was bobbing his head between his legs, the liberal swirls of his tongue and the unrelenting suction of his throat drawing all manner of profanities from Richard's mouth) - he leaned back for a moment and checked the time. The snap had been sent barely three minutes ago.

Three _very short_ minutes ago.

He toyed with his phone for a few moments, wondering what he was in for if he pressed that 'call' button right now, a tantalizing idea that was solidifying in his mind. If he'd interpreted the messages correctly and Richard had been staving off his orgasm since morning, it was fairly unlikely that he would have let himself come in the short time since he’d sent the clip, no matter how close to doing so he'd appeared to be. Then again, maybe Richard had timed things perfectly and made sure to capture the moment itself before the video cut off - thanks to Aidan's inconvenient interruption, Lee thought with chagrin, there was no way to know how the video had ended.

Maybe – and the possibility sparked a core of heat in his gut – maybe Richard was banking on him calling after watching that clip. Maybe that was what he’d wanted and been campaigning for all along: Lee’s voice in his ear, murmuring the words they both loved to use in bed to coax the other over the edge.

No, not maybe; almost certainly.

And if he hadn’t been hard before that realization, he sure was now.

Common sense advised him to do the smarter thing, which would be to eat his lunch in peace and go back to work - as long as he ignored his phone and kept his nose to the grindstone it would be evening soon enough - but at the same time, Richard had definitely been successful in getting his attention, first with the texts, the picture and now with this incredibly erotic video. Also, something distinctly told him that Richard wasn't about to give up his crusade anytime soon; he would just keep teasing and pushing Lee's buttons until he got a reaction out of him. So if a little dirty talk over the phone would settle this situation and get Richard off his back for the rest of the day, was that really such a big price to pay? It wasn't a question he had to ponder for long.

(He would later have to acknowledge that thinking 'a little dirty talk' would get him off the hook had been preposterously naive of him.) _  
_

Once he made the decision to hit that button, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest when Richard answered on the first ring. "Finally," he panted in Lee's ear, the wrecked tone of his voice - now live rather than recorded - sending another little shock of arousal down Lee’s spine. "I don't know how much longer I could have waited for you to join me."

The second he heard the stuttering rhythm of Richard's breath and the rasp of that voice, Lee knew that those stern words he'd been planning earlier would come to naught. Pushing his quickly cooling pasta to the side - oh well, he could always reheat it in the microwave later - he leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk and pressing the phone to his ear, unable to do anything but listen to the sounds Richard was making on the other end, deep groans and breathy gasps and even the distant, repetitive slap of skin sliding rapidly over skin. And if the sounds weren't enough, his mind was helpfully providing pictures of Richard exactly the way he looked when he jerked off for Lee's viewing pleasure - legs parted sinfully on the bed, knees raised and his hips undulating rhythmically, thrusting in counterpoint to the strokes of his hand on his cock. Lee had always been visually inclined - being an artist, his brain was just wired that way - and in his mind he could easily summon every familiar detail, down to that alluring white bead of precome glistening at the slit that made his jaw twinge with a sudden ache right then and there.

"C'mon, Lee," Richard cajoled, exactly the way he would do when they were in bed together and Lee wasn't moving fast enough for his liking, "I know you saw my video. Tell me what you would do if you were here right now."

It wasn't an unexpected request by any means, but when Lee opened his mouth to obey, he found that no words were immediately forthcoming. Highly aware of his surroundings - not to mention the fact that he'd only been talking to Aidan a minute ago - he struggled for a moment to commit to what Richard was asking of him.

"Please," Richard insisted breathlessly, " _please_ , Lee, I need to come so badly and I can't get there without you. Are you alone?"

Lee nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I'm in the office, on break."

"Then talk to me. Please, baby. Don't make me beg even more pathetically than I already am."

The needy strain in his voice - paired with the huskily spoken term of endearment - was what broke Lee's fragile reluctance, and he closed his eyes to try and block everything out - everything but the sound of Richard's voice in his ear and the vivid mental image of what he was doing at the other end of the line. "Well," he began somewhat haltingly, taking a long moment to picture himself in bed with Richard that very moment and ask himself what he would do, "for starters, I wouldn't be letting you touch yourself, let's be clear on that."

From Richard's mouth issued a soft pleading noise that spurred Lee on further, and he angled the phone even closer to his ear so as not to miss a single sound. "I would have you sit on hands and knees in front of me and before doing anything else, I would make it perfectly understood that the only one doing the touching would be me, because you know I know how to get you there and make you feel good.”

“You do, oh god, you do.”

“And I would start by giving that amazing ass of yours a big, strong squeeze, spreading your cheeks real slow so you were completely open to me, and then I would lean closer and give you this nice, long lick with the flat of my tongue, from your balls all the way up to your hole."

To Lee's own surprise, he felt embarrassment heating his cheeks as he spoke these words. Unlike Richard, he'd never really had any trouble vocalizing the things he liked in bed, but doing so over the phone, it turned out, was a different matter altogether. Even with Richard's voice in his ear, encouraging him, he could not fully shake off the jarring awareness that his colleagues were in the next room over and that that door might open again at any moment (although his gruff response to Aidan earlier surely ought to have served as an effective deterrent). These were not exactly the ideal circumstances for some steamy phone sex with his desperately horny boyfriend, and yet he must be doing _something_ right, if the audible hitch in Richard's breathing was anything to go by.

“Uhuh,” Richard gasped, “keep going, baby, tell me more.”

Mangling his lip between his teeth, Lee glanced at the door, wondering if it locked from the inside and whether it was worth getting up to find out. "Fuck, Rich, I'm kinda struggling over here," he confessed. "I've never done this before."

"Oh, please," Richard countered incredulously.

"I swear to god, I haven't. I'm not being coquettish."

"No, I believe you, it's just that- I've never known you to be shy. For Christ's sake, it was you who suggested sex in public in the first place. Remember that conversation we had on the subway the other week?"

Lee did. "Yeah, but a public bathroom is one thing, the workplace very definitely another. I told you the walls have ears around here. If any of these guys get even the slightest suspicion as to what we're up to, I'll never live it down."

"But it'll be so worth it, love." Richard's voice dropped sinfully low as he coaxed in that deep, suggestive tone, "Don't you want to try and find out how hard you can get me to come with only your voice, never once touching me? Because I do, darling. It's all I've been able to think about before you called."

"Damn it, Rich, that's not fair," Lee groaned, taken off-guard by the powerful lurch of his stomach and picturing the shit-eating grin on Richard's face as he grappled for a coherent response. "You know how hot it gets me when you call me that word."

"Good, then you know how I'm feeling." Richard paused pointedly. "So... what were you saying before?"

Lee smirked and shook his head in amused disbelief - it would be pointless to deny that he enjoyed Richard's cheekiness and newfound sexual bravado. Giving up all thoughts of lunch for the time being, he pushed his nerves to the side as best he could and continued where he'd left off.

(Come to think of it, the chances of him being interrupted again seemed negligible, and even then, it wasn't like he and Evie and Aidan were anything other than open with each other about sex. They would tease him relentlessly if these lunch escapades came to light, there was no doubt about that, but it wouldn't be a big deal either. Besides, Richard was clearly dying for all the detail, and Lee was never not willing to provide it - why should this time be any different?).

"I'd tease you, take it slowly," he elaborated, keeping his voice down for Richard's benefit as much as for privacy's sake. "I'd flick my tongue against your hole and circle it, get it all good and wet. And then I'd just patiently run my tongue up and down your crack, passing right over your hole with every lick until you were begging me to put it in you. But I wouldn't, not quite yet." He smiled at Richard's whine of disapproval, which only added to his determination to continue in this vein. "Instead, I'd slowly work my way back down and pull your cock back between your legs and focus on that for a while, making these long licks from the tip all the way up to your balls. And eventually, but not until you were shaking all over with want, I'd give those some attention too, taking them into my mouth and working them over really nicely, because you always go mad for that, don't you baby? And maybe I'd stop very briefly to wet my finger and rub your hole with it really lightly, just around and across. Would you like that?"

_"Fuck."_

Lee decided to interpret that response as an affirmative, and he grinned at the empty room triumphantly, utterly relishing his newfound ability to reduce Richard to this without so much as laying a finger on him, simply by saying the right things. It was an incredibly empowering feeling, one that could easily have worked as an aphrodisiac, but being this focused on Richard meant that his own arousal had become far and away secondary to the challenge of getting Richard where he wanted to be.

"And then," he went on, gaining even more in confidence, "I’d start slowly upping the pressure of that finger until it breached, just up to the first knuckle, but enough to feel you clench around it as it went in, and I'd tell you how nice and tight it felt. And then I'd just swirl my finger around a bit to tease you open, really shallowly, because I know how much you like it when I tease you, even when you're being an impatient little shit who can't stop begging me for more."

"Oh, god, Lee," Richard groaned. "Get a fucking move on."

"Point made." Lee could feel his face stretching into an even broader smirk, and he paused a moment before plunging on, "So I'm licking and sucking your balls, and as I'm doing this I'm slowly moving my finger in and out of you, just the tip at first, and then gradually deeper on every slide. Are you doing that right now, baby? Do you have a finger in there, doing exactly as I'm telling you?"

"Uhuh."

"And you're not touching your cock, are you?"

"Nuhuh."

"Good boy," Lee breathed. "You can touch your balls, though. Pull them and squeeze them, one at a time, and imagine that's my mouth down there. Are you doing that?"

There was a rustle on the other end, and Lee pictured Richard arranging the phone on the pillow so he could continue to listen and have Lee's voice close to his ear as he freed up his other hand. "Yeah."

"Good, so now I want you to fuck yourself proper with your finger, not too fast and not too slow, exactly as I would do. Slide it all the way in there, baby. How does it feel?"

"Good," Richard gasped, choking out the words, "so fucking good, Lee, Jesus. Give me more."

The need in his voice was so thick that Lee had to open his eyes to focus on some mundane object - the stapler of all things - and slowly count to ten as his imaginative brain summoned picture after picture of Richard unapologetically fingering himself on their bed. "Do you want me to hit the good spot, baby? Do you want my finger rubbing you where you need it?"

"Yeah, oh fuck yeah. Please."

"Do it, then," Lee encouraged, and Richard's next exhalation came as a deep, throaty groan, the sound - confirmation that he was following Lee's instructions to the letter - zapping Lee's gut like he'd touched a live wire. For a few moments, all he could do was just listen to the sounds coming from the other end, Richard's erratic breathing and grunting the most prominent of them, and wonder how much longer he could draw this out for. Even without the facial clues - it only occurred to Lee now that he should have called on FaceTime, but there was always next time - Lee could tell from the steady crescendoing of Richard's moans that he wouldn't last another minute if he kept stimulating his prostate like this.

"Stop," he said suddenly, raising his voice when Richard didn't respond promptly. "Stop and take out your finger. Do you have the lube nearby?"

"Lee, you bastard." There was an incredulous, frustrated ring to Richard's utterly wrecked voice, like he couldn't believe Lee was instructing him to stop. "What kind of stupid question is that? Lube hasn't left my side all day."

"Good, then add more. Make your finger nice and slippery. Circle your hole with it and imagine that's my tongue doing that. Tease yourself like I would do, no cheating. Now slip it in - just the tip, mind - and swirl it around a bit. Are you doing that, baby?"

"Uhuh."

"Then start moving that finger in and out slowly." Lee's tongue flicked across his bottom lip involuntarily. "And as you're doing that, I want you to think about the last time I rimmed you, about how I spread your cheeks and pushed my tongue inside and fucked you with it, and I want you to curl your finger just like that and imagine that I'm pushing my tongue in as deep as it will go and making those sounds that you love so much as I'm doing it. You remember how good that felt, don't you?"

Somewhere among Richard's indeterminate moans might have been an affirmative response to that question (although it was hard to tell if his gasps expressed anything other than joyous sexual gratification). Here, Lee allowed himself a few brief moments to reminisce, thinking back fondly of the very encounter he was describing, when he'd woken up pressed snugly to Richard's back one hazy summer morning and indulged in some prolonged sleepy cuddling before scooting unhurriedly down the bed, kissing the long curve of Richard's spine as he went and not stopping until his face was level with his arse. Softly and gently, he'd proceeded to spread Richard's cheeks with his thumbs and started paying his entrance some particular attention, coaxing Richard further awake with every diligent pass of his tongue until he began responding with sighs and quiet moans, curling his fingers into the covers of the bed and reaching back to pull Lee in deeper.

And that had only been the beginning of how they'd spent that lazy, perfect morning.

As he pulled these pleasant memories out of mental storage and went through them one by one, Lee decided somewhat regretfully that it was time to bring things to a close before their luck (or the ageing battery of his phone, for that matter) ran out. "How about it, baby, are you ready to make yourself come?"

"Fucking hell, Lee," Richard ground out, sounding genuinely frustrated. "What gave it away?"

Lee couldn't help but smile at Richard's snarky response. "You're going to insert two fingers next, and you're going to spread yourself open with them like I would do." He paused a moment, waiting for Richard to do as instructed. "Slide those fingers in there deep, darling, and spread them so I can lick between them. Because that's what I'd do next, you know that don't you?"

"Uhn."

"I'd hold you open as I slid my tongue in with my fingers, and then I'd build up a rhythm of fucking you like that, slowly working my fingers in deeper with every thrust until finally I was massaging that amazing little spot inside you perfectly, with exactly the speed and amount of pressure needed to get you there. And you'd come just like that, just from my tongue and fingers. Isn't that right, baby? You wouldn't need to touch your cock at all."

As he spoke, Lee could hear Richard's breathing becoming more labored, only to be cut off by a harsh gasp when he clearly nailed exactly the right spot, and it wasn't difficult for Lee to summon the picture Richard must present at that moment - legs spread wide apart on the bed, knees raised off it, the muscles in his forearm and stomach straining as he pushed his slick fingers (two or three, Lee wasn't really sure anymore at this point) in deep and fucked himself with them. From the increasingly desperate sounds he was making, Lee could tell that he was tantalizingly close to the edge now, every twist and curl of his fingers nudging him closer still, and he continued encouraging him every inch of the way, telling him in uncensored terms to keep at it, to hit that spot until he came, neglected cock and all.

"God, Rich," he groaned, unable to keep from sliding his free hand between his legs and squeezing himself in time with Richard's strokes as best he could without visual aid. "I wish I was there right now, fucking you. It'd be so easy, with you all stretched open and ready. It would feel so fucking good."

"That's all I want," Richard gasped, wheezing out the words between ragged breaths. "God, Lee, what have you done to make me so - ah, _shit_ -"

Lee could hear Richard's next breath catching in his throat and then being released through his teeth in a low, shuddering moan that brought to mind images of Richard curling him on himself with an expression of pained euphoria contorting his face, fingers pushed in to the last knuckle and his cock twitching against his belly as he finally came, spurt after spurt of white pulsing thickly across his stomach and chest and leaving them glistening.

_"Fuck."_

Lee found he really had nothing to add to that, so he kept quiet, listening to Richard's grunts and feeling an odd sense of accomplishment for having proven that he could bring the dirty talk over the phone just as well as he could in person.

"Well done, baby," he praised affectionately once he thought Richard was well enough recovered. He made sure to keep his voice low, not entirely sure how loud he'd been in the heat of the moment. "Will that tide you over until tonight, you reckon?"

"Fucking hell, Lee." Richard sounded positively wiped out from the exertion, his voice thick and sluggish in Lee's ear. "'Thank you', is all I have to say to that."

Lee grinned. "Damn, now I wish I could be there even more, just to see how you look right now. You know I love that glowy, well-fucked look on you. Any chance of another selfie?"

Richard responded with a lazy chuckle. "Nice try, love, but no, too knocked out from that fucking amazing orgasm I had just now. I think it will be a good while before I can summon the energy to lift my arm, let alone get up and take a shower."

"That's too bad," Lee teased, laying the disappointment on extra thick. "I guess my mental images will have to sustain me until tonight, then."

"I'm sure you'll have no issues on that front whatsoever."

Lee's stomach growled. He cast a covetous glance towards his tepid lunch, wondering how to wrap things up somewhat speedily without seeming abrupt. Normally, he loved their after-sex cuddles and pillow talk, but given the unusual circumstances he saw no harm in cutting things a little short this time in favor of pasta, especially since they'd be doing it all again tonight - he'd have to build up some energy in preparation for that. "Right, so... you'll be a good boy from here on out? No more unsolicited dick pics or amateur porn videos coming my way after I hang up?"

"Hang up?" Richard echoed, thoroughly unimpressed. "Excuse me, but that's not how this is going to go. There will be no hanging up before I've made sure you get your due as well."

In all fairness, Lee had to concede that he could have seen this coming from miles away - and yet the bold suggestion took him by surprise. "You can't be serious."

"I can and I am." Richard chuckled, his voice dark like molten chocolate. "Come on - don't tell me the idea doesn't turn you on."

Despite his misgivings, Lee's gaze skittered towards the - still unlocked - door. Granted, so far they seemed to have gotten away with things, but the further this went, the more chances of discovery increased, and did he really want to risk being caught with his pants down by his gossipy apprentice of all people?

 _Don't do it,_ something inside him said. _For god's sake, don't._

"It would have to be quick," he murmured, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if to ask some higher being what the hell had gotten into him that he was going along with this lunacy.

But he was. He most definitely was. He’d never been able to resist Richard’s requests when it came to their bedroom activities and he wasn’t about to start now. Richard knew as much - hell, he was probably banking on it.

Plus, there was a part of Lee that was curious: he knew how dirty Richard’s mouth could be when he made an effort – had been floored by it on many an occasion – and it would be interesting to see what he could do when he was in a mood like this.

"It's a pity, but I guess we can save slow and languorous for tonight," Richard said. "Now, unzip your pants."

The firm tone he used took Lee by surprise, as did the way he could feel himself responding to it. Normally, Richard would make a point of avoiding a tone like that during sex - he would always make requests rather than demands, refraining from any kind of behavior or language that might make Lee feel like he wasn't being given a choice. It was something Fran didn't even have to spell out for them - it seemed like such an obvious, easy way to avoid any unpleasantness of the sort they'd already experienced one time too many.

So to hear Richard get a bit bossy with him - over the phone rather than in person, which decreased the risks significantly - was new, and Lee was left a bit shaken (in a good way) by how much he liked it and wanted Richard to keep talking to him exactly like that.

Which meant that he was in a great deal of trouble.

"Get your cock out," Richard went on, still in that same commanding tone that made Lee's blood rush through his veins faster, dotting his arms with goose flesh. He obeyed without question, but not before he'd lowered his chair - should someone walk in unannounced, at least the worst of it would be hidden from view. "Have you done that?"

Lee swallowed to moisten his throat before replying. "Yeah."

"Are you hard?"

"Uh." Grimacing, Lee glanced down at his now exposed cock. "Need you even ask, Rich? I mean, _really_."

"Good," Richard rumbled, his voice dipping so low that Lee was grateful he was already sitting down, because goddamn, that man's voice never failed to turn his bones to mush. "Then listen carefully. I want you to touch yourself while I tell you how I'm going to greet you when you get home tonight. I'll be waiting right by the door, and the moment you step inside, I'm going to grab you and push you up against the nearest wall and keep you pinned there while I kiss you breathless like I haven't seen you in twenty years. And as I'm doing this, I'll unzip your pants and take your cock in my hand, stroking it and squeezing it just hard enough to make you moan and beg for more, but not hard enough to make you come, not by a long shot. Now imagine me kissing your neck, hot and needy, down to the base where I'd use my teeth to put a put a bright red mark on you, right where everyone can see it and know what it means."

"What does it mean?" Lee prompted, gasping, as he worked himself over with rapid, sloppy pulls, too riled up with lust to be refined about it. He sensed Richard's hesitation and insisted. "Tell me what it means, Rich."

"It means," Richard rasped, each word fighting its way out of his mouth, "that you're mine."

Lee moaned, abandoning all vigilance as he closed his eyes and pictured Richard pressing him to the wall with his body and biting his neck like that - possessing him, whispering those greedy words against his skin for the first time. Too far gone to care about the fact that he was about to have the fastest orgasm since his teen years, he urged Richard to tell him more, and Richard obliged, murmuring a steady stream of filthy nothings into Lee's ear to get him there.

"Faster, Lee," Richard urged, his voice low and rough. "Come for me, darling. Let me hear you."

Lee couldn't have smothered his sounds of pleasure if he'd wanted to, occupied as both his hands were with more important things. Long before Richard could even begin to describe what he was planning to do once he'd had his way with Lee against the wall, Lee could feel heat and pressure curling in his belly, far more rapidly than usual, and he braced his feet on the floor and arched his back, pushing his cock into his slippery fist as he desperately chased after that peak. White light exploded behind his eyelids and his mouth fell open on a moan that was probably too loud given the risks but who the fuck cared anyway when he was in the midst of having the most intense orgasm he'd had flying solo in a long time (if not ever). And Richard never stopped murmuring encouragements into his ear, not until Lee had spent himself completely and was dazedly rummaging through the desk drawer in search of some tissues to mop up the mess.

"Goddamn," he sighed, every limb heavy as though weighed down by lead, "that was something else, babe, but I'm sorry I didn't get to hear what else you had in store for me."

"Mmm," Richard agreed, sounding none too regretful. "A shame indeed. I guess you'll just have to wait to find out. Although the messages I sent you earlier should give you some indication. So chew on those for the rest of the day."

Lee chuckled tiredly as he tucked himself back in and zipped up, tossing the soiled tissues in the bin. "You say that like I would even consider doing anything else. You've given me food for thought aplenty."

"Good."

Lee stretched his legs gingerly and straightened his back. The latter was still a weak spot, and he reminded himself to quit slacking off on his exercises. Vigorous sex alone wouldn't be enough to keep him supple as he approached his mid thirties. "Hey, Rich?"

"Yeah?"

"What we just did was incredibly risky."

"I guess it was."

"And you're kinda crazy for talking me into it."

"Uhuh."

"And, uh..." Lee felt his cheeks glow as he spit out the confession. "Just so you know, I really fucking liked the way you talked to me."

"I know. I could tell." Richard's voice grew softer, tenderer. "But I won't be doing that tonight, Lee, and you know why."

"Yeah, I do," Lee said. "And it's okay. But- maybe one day, huh?"

"Yeah," Richard agreed. "Maybe one day."

Lee's stomach protested again, louder than before, and he reached for his carton of pasta to take a listless bite. "Well, my lunch has now officially gone cold, and I have only about fifteen minutes left to heat it up again and tidy myself up before my next client gets here. What about you - will you be getting up soon, lazybones?"

"Define 'soon'." Richard chuckled. "You know what, on second thought, maybe I won't take a shower but draw myself a nice hot bath instead and soak in that for a while. Ruminate on what just happened and play with myself some more."

"Christ," Lee muttered, quickly filing those mental images away before they settled in his mind and haunted him for the rest of the day. "Must be nice to be an actor on leave. I hope they give you the Falconer part soon because man, you are in dire need of something to occupy yourself with other than masturbation."

"What I need is for you to come home and fuck me," Richard amended matter-of-factly. Even now, and even in this deadpan tone, the words were like a little punch in Lee's gut, rendering him slightly breathless. But of course Richard didn't leave it at that, elaborating helpfully, "What I need is for you to bend me over and put that cock in me and give it to me as deep and rough as I can take it."

"You bastard," Lee breathed wholeheartedly. "You know full well I still have half the day ahead of me, and the hours will be long enough without you putting thoughts like these into my head."

Richard sounded completely unremorseful. "Just providing a little incentive for you to come home as soon as you can, is all. Oh, and Lee? I know what time you punch out. So if you haven't texted me by the time you get on your bike to say that you're on your way, I've got no qualms about speeding things along with another picture or two."

"That's great, Rich," Lee said drily. "So if my distraction gets me in an accident on the way home, at least the medical personnel will have a field day with those pics."

"Please don't joke about that," Richard said quietly. "Just come home quickly _and_ safely, okay?"

"I will," Lee reassured him, surprised by the sudden change in tone and conceding that the joke had been somewhat in bad taste. "Believe me, now that I know what's waiting for me at home, I'd be stupid not to."


	36. Thrush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: this is a very flashbacky chapter and some Richard/OC occurs. All in flashback though!

Although Richard kept his word and refrained from sending any more racy texts or pictures, it went without saying that the remainder of Lee's work day was a write-off, spent counting down the long, torturous hours till closing time and pondering the conundrum that was Richard Crispin Armitage - the man who, to Lee, had always given the impression of being completely at ease with his sexual identity and had shown no qualms about taking Lee to public functions when they had barely begun to date, but who had blushed and stammered his way through many of their therapy sessions with Fran and often left it to Lee to do the talking when it came to the intricacies of their sex life. He had always been comfortable enough practicing filth, just not talking about it - at least not outside of the bedroom.

Lee wasn't sure exactly how and when it had happened, but somewhere along the line that shy man appeared to have left the building and been replaced by the new and improved Richard, a man who had recently turned forty, gotten a tattoo (without his manager's knowledge or consent, something for which he'd been duly berated) and now seemed to be going through some sexual reawakening. Maybe it was the result of therapy, maybe it was midlife crisis - either way, Lee suspected that what he had witnessed today might just be the first glimpse of an exciting new trend, one he was fully on board with.

Fran needed to see them less often now - one appointment a week instead of the two or three they'd started out with - but she still gave them assignments to work on at home, and a couple of days earlier the two of them had sat down for an exhaustive talk about their respective sexual and dating histories. A long overdue talk, as it turned out, because while Lee had of course known the gist of things, there had been plenty of revelations left to be made, especially from Richard's side of the board (not least because he had several more years to cover).

One of the more surprising revelations was that at age 16, Richard had had a much earlier and smoother coming out than Lee - or many other gay people, for that matter - which had enabled him to start exploring his sexuality and establish his place on the spectrum in the comfort and safety of a relatively accepting environment (as accepting as one could hope for in the immediate wake of the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s, at least).

Richard had had the good fortune and the privilege of being born to two level-headed, forward-thinking parents who were none too concerned when, upon entering his teens, their youngest son started displaying what neighbors or acquaintances might have called 'unnatural tendencies'. His father was a college professor and his mother worked in forensics, so they were used to taking a scientific, non-judgmental approach to things in everyday life, including Richard's first forays into dating. Richard admitted somewhat sheepishly to Lee that his being the youngest child may also have played a part - he was what his parents called 'a late blessing', and by the time he was born his two older brothers had already laid the groundwork navigating the labyrinth of parental control. Growing up, Richard plucked the fruits of that labor. He wouldn't say he had been spoiled per se, but he could definitely get away with more, and his being something other than straight barely caused a ripple. Over the years, after learning of other people's experiences, Richard had come to appreciate just how fortunate he was to be able to say that.

That didn't mean, however, that the process of self-discovery and coming out had been easy. On the contrary, he had wrestled with those confusing feelings for quite a while just like any teenage boy would, because nothing in his childhood had prepared him for or even hinted at the possibility of boys dating boys - and if you didn't read about it in books or see it on television, if people didn't talk about it, then it had to be wrong, illicit, a shameful invention of his overactive, hormonal teenage brain.

That all changed when he joined his high school drama club, and met Henry.

As was so often the case, drama club at Richard's school was a place where students who didn't fit the mold flocked together, a safe haven for social outcasts who were bullied or singled out for being cursed with one of the unforgivable attributes that made life in school a living hell, like a lack of athletic ability, more than average intelligence and ginger hair.

(Of course, some unfortunate students had it worse than others, and although Richard was no great athlete by any means, he happened to be a fairly decent cricketer - decent enough that his batting hand even won him a spot in the school team two years in a row - so he got by most of the time, but drama club was where he was most at home, among kindred spirits who enjoyed the chance to get into someone else's skin for a couple hours each week just as much as he did.)

Over time they had become a tight-knit group of friends, who liked to hang out together even outside of rehearsal time, but within that group there was one with whom Richard formed a special kinship. Henry was a year higher up, 17 years old, with short, sandy blond curls and hazel eyes (a particular weakness of Richard's, although it took him a while to figure out why his stomach flipped every time Henry turned his shy look on him). They struck up a friendship, bonding over their shared hatred of maths and French and often having lunch at the same table. And since they lived only a couple of streets apart, one would often wait for the other after school so they could catch the same bus home and if they were lucky enough to secure adjoining seats, Richard would get to feel Henry's leg and hip pressed to his for approximately seven and a half minutes as they chatted on the bus, a sensation that put a strange - but not unpleasant - warmth in his chest and made him feel lighter than air as he walked the short distance home from the bus stop.

And for a good while that was the extent of their friendship, an almost surprisingly platonic one given that the students in drama club were far from shy about getting a little physical with each other. This was an early learning experience for Richard, driving home just what an incestuous place theatre could be, as the relationship dynamics within the group changed at least every couple of weeks, which made keeping up with who was dating who at any given time a fairly complex affair. But even mere friendly affection among them was often expressed with hugs, hand holding and even kisses on the mouth (although it went without saying that these exchanges were limited to the privacy of the auditorium during rehearsals, because there was an unspoken understanding that outsiders would not think it as normal as they had come to do, especially when it came to the boys).

Richard, too, had casually dated one or two of the girls for a brief period, but neither of these flings lasted long enough to warrant the label 'relationship' and in both cases the girl soon moved on to new and greener pastures. Richard on the other hand found himself dawdling a bit on that front - sure, it had been exciting to explore that strange new dimension, to be one half of a couple and have someone to walk the hallways hand in hand and make out with between classes, but with both girls the initial newness had faded almost disillusioningly quickly and made way for a feeling of ennui and indifference.

Based on these overall unsatisfying experiences, Richard had decided that if this was what being in love was like, it really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. So when Jessica, a girl in his year who wasn't unattractive by any means, snuck him a note during science class inferring that she would be amenable to snogging on the condition that he help her with a project, his first instinct was to ignore it. Instead, in a misguided attempt at being gallant, he'd written a note back politely declining the proposed trade. For all his good intentions, however, the look on her face as she read his response told him that it was not well received at all. And although he'd never been able to trace them back to Jessica, he didn't think it a coincidence that the first gay rumors about him had started circulating soon thereafter.

At first the homophobic slurs didn't concern him too much. After all, he'd made out with girls, even fondled a breast or two and enjoyed it, so how gay could he be? It wasn't until the next time one of the other boys in drama club kissed him backstage - rehearsal had been particularly taxing and emotionally affecting that day, and kisses were a way for them to acknowledge each other's efforts and offer comfort - that Richard had begun to acknowledge the truth of the feelings slumbering inside him. Granted, it had been nothing more than a friendly peck on the lips, given almost thoughtlessly, but something in that gentle exchange unexpectedly opened Richard's eyes to a part of him that had gone unnoticed until then, quietly lurking beneath the surface and waiting to be discovered at the right time.

And it made him yearn. Not for the boy who had happened to kiss him - Dominic - but for someone else entirely.

Startled and appalled at himself, he'd abruptly disengaged and walked away in a daze without saying a word, but when he left the auditorium ten minutes later after changing into his school uniform, Dominic was waiting for him by the door, bag slung casually over his shoulder and his messily done tie askew. Richard would have avoided him if he could, but there was only one way out of the auditorium.

"Hey," Dominic said, with just a hint of trepidation hiding under a veneer of rehearsed nonchalance, "so, uh, I kind of felt you realize something back there earlier, and I just wanted to make sure everything's okay."

"Don't wanna talk about it, Dom," Richard deflected as he tried to worm his way past while keeping a wide berth at the same time, which was not an easy feat.

"Wait," Dominic said quickly, stepping forward and reaching out to touch Richard's arm. "It's okay. Really. I won't tell anyone, I promise. And it's no big deal."

Unable to meet Dominic's eyes, Richard stared at the hand on his arm instead. It didn't move, and he didn't shake it off either. "If it's not a big deal, then why don't you go ahead and tell the whole sodding school what you know?"

Dominic slowly retrieved his hand and shrugged. "Because I'm not a twat?"

The reply, almost comical in its simplicity, coaxed the first smile from Richard, who finally looked up to find it returned.

"So..." Dominic grinned sheepishly. "You want to hang out this weekend maybe?"

"I - I don't think so, Dom," Richard stuttered, inwardly despairing at how poor a job life had done at preparing him for a situation such as this. Jessica's note was one thing, but Dominic was a mate and letting down a mate because he didn't have the right sandy blond curls and hazel eyes wasn't something he enjoyed. But here he was, still reeling from what was arguably the most staggering and impactful self-discovery of his life to date, and all he could think of was Henry.

Despite his awakening to the truth of his feelings, however, it took another two and a half months for him to act on them, held back as he was by fear - fear of making the wrong move at the wrong time and cocking everything up, fear of rebuttal and seeing the disgust in Henry's eyes when he realized what Richard was.

And who knew how long it might have taken him to get his act together if Henry hadn't been failing in French.

His grades had started to slip at the end of the first trimester and he'd been lagging behind for most of the second, which posed a threat for his looming AS-level exams and caused tension at home. Henry's parents were well-educated people who held high expectations for their son's achievements in school and future career, and failing a class was definitely not something they'd take lightly. Over the weeks Richard had noticed Henry getting quieter and more withdrawn, and one afternoon, during rehearsals, it all came to a head. Henry was clearly distracted and flubbed his lines throughout the whole scene, making it an arduous rehearsal for everyone, until the exasperated drama teacher, Mr. Taylor, told him somewhat impatiently to get it together. Henry had flung an insult at the teacher and stormed off the stage, leaving everyone stunned by this uncharacteristic outburst. Richard, whose character did not appear in the scene, had offered to go after him, and Mr. Taylor - looking slightly guilty - had consented.

He found Henry backstage, angrily - and rather purposelessly - rummaging through the costume racks, and it only took a little gentle prodding for the whole story to come out. Unhappy with his grades, Henry's parents were threatening to pull him out of drama club if he didn't score at least above average on his next French test, and he'd gotten in a row with them over it the night before.

"They can't do that," Richard said, shocked. He knew that Henry's parents were not in full support of his ventures into theatre to begin with and would rather he spent the time on study instead, but this news came as a punch in the gut.

"Sure they can," Henry responded flatly. "One call to the headmaster and it's done. You can bet that they'll stick me in a room with a tutor every day for the rest of the year if I don't turn things around in a hurry."

Richard shook his head in disbelief and outrage over this injustice. "When is your next test? I'll help you study for it."

The spontaneous offer brought a crooked smile to Henry's face. "You're not in Year 12, Richard. Besides, you hate French even more than I do if that's possible."

"I don't care," Richard declared heatedly, reaching for Henry's shoulder and squeezing it in support. "We'll figure something out. You belong in drama club, with us. We're not going to let them take that away from you."

Henry sniffled and managed to smile through a sudden rush of tears, an unexpected and unprecedented sight that made Richard's heart clench painfully in his chest. He would always blame those tears for what he did next, putting his other hand on Henry's opposite shoulder and leaning in for an impromptu kiss on the mouth, brief and sweet and meant to be comforting. It was their first ever kiss together, both of them too shy to initiate one on previous occasions, of which there had been plenty. Richard had an abiding memory of its slightly salty taste and the softness of Henry's lips locked away in his heart, and he remembered thinking as he pulled away to survey Henry's face that this was either the most enchanting moment of his life or one he would spend the rest of his natural days trying to erase from his mind.

For a long, breathless moment they stared at each other, Richard trying his damnedest to crack a smile, to make light of what he'd just done so unthinkingly, but the words refused to form. His hands wouldn't release Henry's shoulders either, paralyzed by the rapidly growing fear - terror, rather - that he'd made a disastrous mistake he would pay for dearly.

And then, miraculously, Henry leaned back in for a second kiss, just as simple and chaste as the previous one had been, but it made Richard's heart swell so fast that he wouldn't have been surprised if it had burst right out of his chest then and there. He could feel it hammering wildly against the insides of his ribs as Henry broke away to gaze at him half fearfully, half expectantly, measuring him in the same way as Richard had done earlier.

To this very day, Richard did not remember how long the eye contact had lasted or who had moved next, but he did recall two slight weights that could only be Henry's hands bracketing his waist and the stale smell of dusty stage clothes wafting into his nose as he stumbled forward pressing Henry into the rack of costumes behind him for a kiss that blew the other two right out of the water. They were almost the same height, despite Richard being a year younger, and he vividly remembered not quite knowing what to do with his hands - there were no breasts to try and fondle, Henry's chest hard and flat against his own - so he just kept them on Henry's shoulders, clutching desperately as months' worth of suppressed yearning poured out into this incredible, forceful kiss that felt like an epiphany right off the bat. This, this was heat and longing and everything he'd imagined a kiss should be like, not the sort of lacklustre groping he'd partaken in before.

Worry briefly flared in Richard's chest when a soft whimpering noise escaped Henry's mouth, sparking an irrational fear that he'd misjudged the situation after all, but it was quelled quickly by the feeling of Henry's lips parting beneath his and the first electrifying touch of their tongues meeting for the first time, cautiously at first and then increasingly less so. Richard felt every nerve ending in his body come alive as they drank each other in like parched men finding water after a lifetime of drought. It was only when the alarming sound of approaching footsteps brought them back to the here and now that they abruptly stopped what they were doing and wheeled apart, straightening their clothes and wiping their mouths furtively seconds before a concerned Mr. Taylor came in to check on the both of them.

But after that kiss it soon became a well-established fact among their group of friends that Richard and Henry were dating on the down low, although of course no dating in the literal sense was involved. But they became practically inseparable, snatching moments together between classes whenever they could and spending long hours in the school library where they could have whispered conversations and bump knees under the table without being seen or disturbed. On the bus home, they could even get away with holding hands occasionally by strategically draping a jacket or bag over their laps, and Richard quickly came to love the feeling of Henry's fingers curled lightly around his. Kissing, however, was reserved for backstage, and over time they became quite adept at eluding Mr. Taylor and recreating that first snogging session between the costume racks many times over.

One of the reasons why he had been drawn to theatre initially was because it offered him a chance to temporarily shed his own identity and assume somebody else's. And yet ironically, the auditorium turned out to be the only place in the school where he could safely be himself without fear of judgment and ridicule. Because as young and smitten as he was, he knew that broadcasting his feelings to the world was a sure way to make the rest of his school days hell on earth. Neither of them was ready to deal with that stigma or its potentially grave repercussions at the time - they were only teenagers, after all, and life at that age was hard enough in and of itself. Yet, in spite of the risks and the struggles he too had gone through to find self-acceptance, it was unequivocally one of the happiest, most carefree times of Richard's life.

It wasn't long, however, before Richard's mother cottoned on to his unexplained transition from sulky teenager who communicated almost exclusively with grunts and hums to one who started chatting about his day as soon as he came home, who did his homework and chores without having to be asked and, most suspicious of al, gave his mum unexpected hugs when the joy bubbling inside him needed an outlet.

"Dad and I have noticed you've been very chipper lately," she said after walking into his room to collect the laundry one afternoon. It was the kind of remark that was meant to sound casual but was clearly anything but, and Richard braced himself for what he knew would come next, ducking his head slightly in embarrassment when she ran her fingers through his hair affectionately. "I guess. Please, Mum, you're messing it up."

"Is there a particular reason?" There was a brief silence as Mrs. Armitage stooped to pick up a pair of (mismatched) socks from the floor, dropping them into the basket with the other dirty clothes. "A girl possibly?"

Richard was grateful for the fact that he was sitting at his desk with his biology books in front of him and she couldn't see his face. It was the question he'd dreaded most, because he knew that when she asked it, he wouldn't get away with anything less than the truth. "Uh - not quite."

"Not quite but close?" she asked when he didn't elaborate, her tone encouraging.

"I mean, there is someone." He stalled, taking a great interest in his fingernails as he frantically tried to remember the words he had mentally rehearsed in the weeks leading up to this moment. "Not a girl, though."

Behind him, he could hear his mum slowly sitting down on the bed. "I see."

He turned halfway around and glanced anxiously in her direction to gauge the impact of his words. "Please don't be upset?" The calm, reassuring tone he tried to strike failed miserably - instead he came off sounding insecure and about half his age.

She shook her head slowly. "I'm not upset, darling, just a little surprised. I thought... Since you were seeing that girl before,  I assumed-"

Richard bit his lip and, after a few moments of contemplation, blurted out what over the past several weeks had matured in his mind from a mere suspicion to an unequivocal but complicated certainty. "I sort of think I may like both, Mum."

She mulled this over for a few moments, observing him as he squirmed in his chair with increasing discomfort. "Well, tell me more about this boy. What is his name?"

"Henry," Richard replied, relieved that she had asked an easy question this time. Anxious to fill the silence, he nervously chattered on, "We're in drama club together, but his parents threatened to pull him out if his French grades didn't improve, so we've been studying together a lot. That's why I've been staying at school late, Mum, to quiz him and stuff."

"I see." A small smile flitted across Mrs. Armitage's face. "And I suppose that's why your own grades have improved lately, as well."

"I - I guess." Richard flushed and looked at her with trepidation. "Are you going to tell Dad?"

"You know I'll have to, darling. Like it or not, you're still a minor."

Richard's shoulders sagged. "He won't be thrilled, though, will he?"

"Let me handle your father." She rose from the bed and stroked the hair he'd been trying to hide behind away from his forehead. "I'd like to meet the young man. Henry. Bring him over to study and have dinner here next week. Dad should have had time to get used to the idea by then."

And so it had been done. When Richard came home the next Wednesday with a nervous Henry in tow, his mother had been welcoming and told him it was good to meet him. And when Richard asked if they could go up to his room to do their homework, she'd allowed it - on the condition that the door stayed open at all times, the exact same rule she'd enforced when he brought girls over - and promised to bring up tea and biscuits in a bit.

"Thanks, Mum," Richard had said sheepishly, as they grabbed their bags and lugged them upstairs to his room.

When Richard's father came home that night, he too had shaken Henry's hand and showed an interest in him, asking the standard parent questions that had Richard rolling his eyes a little bit, but he did see the effort his parents were making to make Henry feel welcome and he was grateful for it. After a few intense discussions on the subject, they had apparently reached the conclusion that Richard's infatuation with another boy was nothing too concerning and as long as his school work didn't suffer, they told him, he could continue seeing Henry and bring him over to their house provided that there was an adult present.

Of course, there was another condition, as he found out the next day when his mother came into his room again and none-too-subtly placed a pack of condoms on his desk. It wasn't the first time she had done that - what she didn't know was that the packs she'd given him on previous occasions were still in his desk drawer, unopened, because he hadn't been with either of his girlfriends long enough to find out what came after touching a girl's breasts - but that didn't mean that it mortified him any less.

"You're sixteen, Richard," she told him matter-of-factly, "and I know that you'll find ways to have sex whether I approve or not. You're growing up and you're going to want to experiment like any teenager."

"Mummm." Cringing with embarrassment, Richard skittishly shuffled the pack under his books so it would stop glaring at him. "We're not doing anything, all right? I wouldn't even know how."

"Well, be that as it may," his mother responded drily, "I'm sure you'll figure it out sooner or later, and when you do, use these. Please. One reads a lot of scary things, and I want you to be safe and healthy, okay? Promise me, Richard. Promise me you'll be responsible, always."

"Yes, Mum. I promise."

"Thank you." She sighed and gave the nape of his neck a fond little squeeze, which he reluctantly tolerated. "Well, at least I don't have to worry about becoming a granny just yet, right?" she teased him.

He groaned in absolute mortification. "God, Mum, _please_."

But as uncomfortable as that exchange had been, Richard knew even in that moment that he was lucky to have parents who accepted him for who he was, all the more remarkable given the prejudices of the era. Many people he met later in life had been raised in a far less tolerant environment and more often than not their sense of self worth had been severely compromised because of it. Richard had been spared that struggle, and not a day went by that he didn't reap the rewards of his upbringing and spare a moment of gratitude for it.

(It was at this point in the narrative that Richard had seemed to become aware of how long he'd been monologuing and apologized, even though Lee had hung on his every word and protested emphatically when Richard tried to wind things up.

“No, come on, baby, you can't stop there,” he wheedled, cocking his head imploringly in a way that had proven effective in the past and scooting closer to nudge Richard in the flank. “I'm going to need more detail than that - you know the kind I mean. What exactly did you and Henry get up to between those costume racks when Mr. Taylor wasn't looking?"

The suggestive undertone was enough to make Richard blush. “Let's not pretend my awkward teenage fumbling merits discussing,” he countered, making a face, “because it most definitely doesn't, especially more than two decades down the line.”

“Oh, please," Lee insisted with a sly smile, "be honest now, wouldn't you wanna hear about the time I got to my knees and sucked a classmate's dick in a bathroom stall, or any of the other things I did in my first weeks at Juilliard?"

"Well..." Richard raised his eyebrows, interest instantly piqued. "Of course, if you put it like that..."

"Right, so fess up, then - since I'm sure making out wasn't all you guys did - how right was your mom to slip you those condoms?”

Richard ducked his head slightly, but not enough to fully hide the fond little smile lifting the corners of his mouth. The sight sparked warmth in Lee's chest - and made him even more motivated to unearth all the juicy details.

“She was several steps ahead of us, actually.” Richard paused, glancing at Lee's face with a look of amused resignation. “You’re not going to stop banging on about this until I give you a full rundown, are you?”

“I’m really not, no.”

Exhaling forcefully as if to expel any lingering reservations he might have about this topic, Richard rubbed his nose the way he did when playing for time. "Bloody hell, Lee,” he murmured with a little shake of his head, “when you've got something on the brain, you can be an awfully persistent little bugger, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah, guilty as charged. But I don't recall you complaining about that when I made you sit in my lap and ride my cock last night.”

Richard flushed a slightly deeper shade of cerise and rolled his eyes at him, but did not deny the claim. "Even so - I hope you realize I'm going to get you back for this. I'm sure you have quite a few childhood memories worth dredging up yourself."

"You're more than welcome to root around in my past," Lee replied, wholly unconcerned. It wasn't as if Richard didn't know his most shameful secrets already. "Now quit stalling and start giving me the good stuff already, you big tease.")

For all of Mrs Armitage's concerns, things between Richard and Henry had barely progressed beyond making out in the private corners of the auditorium and all the kissing they could get away with in Richard's room (which, owing to his parents' open door policy, wasn't a whole lot) until about two months into their relationship. Both new to the concept of same sex relationships (or sex in general), they were content enough to explore the joys of vigorous snogging and, occasionally, some spontaneous - yet unproductive - rubbing and humping, although the latter especially came with its own set of frustrating side effects, as they were quickly able to establish.

But then came the day that Henry surprised Richard by showing up to watch one of his cricket games. Unbeknownst to Richard, he'd rallied practically the entire drama club (most of whom had little love for sports, Henry included) to tag along, so it looked like it was just the club coming out to support Richard, bearing hand painted signs and everything. It was late in the season and the team had put on a subpar performance throughout, which meant that interest in the games was waning and the unexpected support from this unlikely bunch of fans was noticed and appreciated by Richard's teammates, who were of course oblivious to the real reason behind their presence, which had little to do with pride in the team.

Now, Richard wasn't the star player of the team by a long shot - in fact, he spent more time on the bench than he did on the field - but that day the coach had decided to bench a few players who were nursing injuries and put Richard in. He had been nervous for the first ten minutes or so, distracted by the knowledge that Henry was watching from the stands, but he'd gained in confidence as the game progressed and scored a few important runs that had helped his team secure a solid victory and even climb a spot in the rankings (from 13th to 12th, which was hardly the kind of heroic comeback you saw in movies, but it was a euphoric moment nonetheless and his shoulder had been black and blue that night from the many congratulatory poundings he'd received from his ecstatic teammates).

After the match, as the stands emptied and the other players took their rowdy celebrations off to the dressing room, Richard lingered, ostensibly to gather and store away the equipment, a job for which he'd volunteered. He wasn't that fond of shower time anyway, so he was glad for the excuse.

Not entirely unexpectedly, Henry had joined him in the storeroom. His mere appearance - thick curls in dire need of a haircut, shy smile and a T-shirt in the school colors hugging his lithe frame - made Richard's already adrenaline-pumped heart beat an even faster rhythm.

"Now there's a face I didn't expect to see out there today," Richard teased, in an attempt to break the sudden tension crackling between them, making the room feel smaller and even stuffier than it was. "Don't you always say you'd rather flunk a year than be caught dead at a school sports match?"

"Just seemed like the right thing to do to try and cheer our pathetic team to a victory for once," Henry countered without missing a beat, shrugging semi-offhandedly. "I may not give a rat's arse about cricket, but I do have school pride."

"Well, it seems to have helped, so thank you. I can only hope you weren't too bored watching thirteen boys standing around getting sunburnt for the better part of the afternoon." He touched his glowing nose self-consciously. "On a Saturday, no less."

"Bored? When one of those boys is you?" Henry stepped closer to Richard, a shy blush appearing on his face. "Not bloody likely. Besides, you look awfully cute in that silly uniform, pink cheeks and all. And fuck if I wasn't stupidly proud when you scored those runs, too."

Richard was pretty sure he'd stopped breathing somewhere between that moment and the first press of Henry's lips against his own, tentative at first and then more insistent, and without either of them realizing it they blindly stumbled further into the room, out of sight, behind a shelving unit heavily stacked with leg pads, helmets, plastic cones and other well-used sports supplies. There, knowing themselves to be invisible to anyone passing by or entering the room, they'd proceeded to engage in some vigorous necking, shadows creeping in from the edges of Richard's vision due to lack of oxygen and the feeling of Henry's wiry body pressed flush against his, keeping him pinned to the cool concrete wall behind him. At least one step ahead of him, Henry somehow managed to work his hand underneath Richard's cricket jumper and shirt, slowly trailing his fingers up Richard's spine in a way that made him moan with surprise and want. Petting wasn't anything new, but the skin-on-skin contact definitely was, and god, he needed more of it. At the same time, Henry's hips grinding rhythmically into his own were working hard at distracting him from anything else that might be going on.

Well, almost anything else.

Because underneath his cricket whites, Richard was wearing a jockstrap with a protective cup inside, and the hard piece of plastic was becoming more of a hindrance by the second - not least because every sweep of Henry's tongue inside his mouth and every caress of his fingers under his shirt went straight to Richard's groin, where the confinement and limited space were starting to pose a very real problem. When he tried to angle away and discreetly readjust things, however, Henry misinterpreted the movement and drew back abruptly, looking bewildered and concerned. "What's wrong? Are you- I thought- should I stop?"

Richard shook his head and swallowed, face heating up with embarrassment. "No, it's not that, I just-" He struggled for words briefly and eventually just blurted, "It's this bloody cup I'm wearing, all right? Not a whole lot of room down there and you rubbing yourself against me like that isn't exactly helping."

It broke the tension, at least, and Henry's nervous laughter coaxed a few chuckles from Richard as well, but they both grew quiet again as Henry's gaze slid from Richard's kiss-bruised mouth down his front to linger on his crotch for a moment before flicking back up to his face. "Can I see?"

His face like a furnace, Richard had just nodded his assent and looked on breathlessly as Henry reached down and opened his trousers with clumsy fingers. He struggled with the jockstrap, seeming to lose some of his nerve when his unpracticed fumbling took too long, so Richard had to step in and assist, even though his hands were shaking just as badly as he opened the pouch at the front and pulled the piece of plastic out, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so. However, removing the cup left him incredibly exposed, standing there in a stale room full of sports equipment with his almost fully hard cock out of his pants for Henry to see, and he might have turned his head away in mortification if he hadn't been enthralled by the flushed look of fascination on Henry's face.

Eventually Henry woke from his trance enough to gesture vaguely at his own crotch. "Do you, uh, want me to-" Richard just nodded again, unthinkingly taking his erection in hand and giving it an idle stroke as he watched Henry unzip and shyly present his very similarly swelling cock. They were equal then, and Richard's self-consciousness subsided almost immediately. He was sure that Henry had done it partly for that reason, and if he hadn't known he loved the lad before then, he surely did now. "You're really lovely," he croaked nervously - but sincerely - and blushed even harder at those words slipping out of him unplanned.

"So are you." Henry pulled his lower lip between his teeth, eyes tracking the movements of Richard's hand and throat bobbing visibly as he swallowed. "Have you ever... had someone touch it?"

"Not really," Richard rasped, thinking of the few times his last girlfriend had given him a halfhearted rub through his pants (which he got more frustration out of than anything else) but refused to get any closer. "Not properly."

"I'd like to," Henry timidly confessed, prompting more blushing. "Would that- would that be okay?"

"Uhuh," Richard replied, almost too quickly, bracing himself on a shelf to his right when Henry's hand replaced his own tentatively. It was warm and a bit sweaty, and even that first careful touch had his brain almost short-circuiting and his head thudding back against the plaster. To have a hand other than his own touching him there, doing the things - however uncertainly - he had only ever done himself, felt shockingly, addictively good, and he could not rein in the delirious moan escaping him as Henry sped up, gripping him slightly more firmly. His movements were a bit choppy and unrefined but the friction didn't feel any less amazing because of it. "Good?" he checked all the same.

"Yeah, fuck yeah." Richard curled his hand around the back of Henry's neck and crashed their mouths together in an impetuous, hungry kiss. "Please go faster," he pleaded, because he already felt a familiar pressure building in his core, much too quickly for his liking but he knew he wouldn't be able to stop it. He reached down to reciprocate, hand moving over Henry's cock with little finesse but Henry moaned his approval all the same, bracing his free hand against the wall and pressing his face into the crook of Richard's shoulder as they jerked each other off frantically, spurred on by the knowledge that they were playing with fire and might well be discovered if they took too long (although in all honesty, Richard was secretly turned on by that thought as much as it terrified him).

With no breath or time left to give Henry a warning in advance, Richard came embarrassingly quickly, somehow retaining the clarity of mind - a shred of it, anyway - to muffle his gasps and cries into the cotton of Henry's T-shirt as he did so. His head lolled back against the wall as he tried desperately not to collapse but to stay upright in the aftermath of an incredible orgasm that drained the strength right out of his legs, too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all to realize that his hand had slowed almost to a halt.

"Please," Henry whined, and this plea was enough to make Richard come to and continue his pumping with renewed purpose, marveling at the heat and firmness that felt so right in his hand, so much better than when he masturbated (sometimes out of boredom more than anything else, and more often than not rather hurriedly for fear of his mum walking in). It only took a few more squeezes, a few more twists of Richard's wrist to deliver that final push, and although Henry somehow remembered to angle away at the last second to avoid making a mess, Richard would later discover some crusty spots on his white flannels and shoes (and go to great lengths to get them out without rousing his mum's suspicion).

Afterwards, they wasted no time in zipping up, the fear of being caught with their pants open and cocks out returning along with their wits. They did however spend a few lovely minutes necking lazily and smirking stupidly at each other, until Richard had to go and make his appearance in the dressing room before anyone realized how long he was taking to clear away a couple bats and helmets. And it was a good thing that they had won the match, because once he joined his teammates, no one even remotely suspected that his uncontainable grin had to do with something other than their athletic achievement.

Needless to say that over the following weeks and months they had repeated the encounter in the storeroom whenever they found the chance. They became increasingly inventive about creating private moments for themselves - finding quiet nooks and corners to hide away in, explore each other more patiently and experiment more thoroughly with no one being any the wiser - and it wasn't long before they upped the stakes, Richard the first to get to his knees one day and introduce his mouth, a spontaneous addition to their growing repertoire that had been received with a great deal of enthusiasm. Inexperienced as he was, Richard hadn't pulled away in time - not least because Henry's fingers were knotted in his hair like vises - and was caught off-guard by the sudden rush of semen flooding his mouth, but neither his coughing and gulping nor the lingering burning of his throat took anything away from the triumphant feeling that he'd accomplished something quite extraordinary and game-changing.

(It wasn't long before Henry reciprocated, of course, and over time, through practice and thorough experimentation, they'd vastly improved their skills and become more confident at it. "No fucking kidding," Lee couldn't help but say in wholehearted agreement, thinking with a grin of all the incredible and generous blow jobs Richard had given him thus far, and how maddeningly good he looked doing it.)

During the time they were together - from their very first kiss to Henry moving away to go to college eighteen months later, which ironically made it one of the most substantial relationships of Richard's life - they never once got caught and rarely found themselves in a situation where not being able to be openly and publicly affectionate with each other presented a problem, as they were perfectly comfortable keeping a low profile. One of the few exceptions was the school dance at the end of Henry's final year. Since they were unable to go as a pair, the drama club banded together once again and went as a unit, sticking close together the entire evening and even splitting into same-sex pairs on the dance floor when they'd had a drink or two. It was certainly not without risk - one of the supervising teachers could easily have taken offence and thrown them out - and some of the other students pointed and laughed, but they successfully passed it off as a lark and no one really paid much attention to the drama nerds anyway, so they all got away with it. What Richard remembered most of that evening was how good it had felt to have Henry in his arms for the entirety of a song in front of everyone, even going in for a stealthy kiss when the lights dimmed briefly at the end of the song. It had made his heart soar in the moment itself, but after they reluctantly separated to change partners, Richard had to admit that they'd been a bit reckless.

After the dance, the whole group had gone to Michael's place - his parents were out of town and he'd somehow convinced them to let the house be confiscated by a band of tipsy 17 and 18 year olds. It was the first and only time Richard and Henry had a bed to themselves for a night - albeit a makeshift one on the floor of Michael's mother's sewing room - and they'd wrung the opportunity dry. If Richard had thought to bring his pack of condoms (it was still in the drawer of his desk where he'd stowed it away with the others the year before) they might even have done more than kissing and peeling each other's tuxes off leisurely and spending several hours building up to the most sensational blow jobs of their lives to date. And as he lay there in the dark, very comfortably cushioned in a mass of soft blankets and pillows while Henry sucked and swallowed around his cock diligently, Richard felt so emboldened by the endorphins rushing through his veins that afterwards, in those unguarded, drowsy moments before sleep, he'd blurted out a thought that had been floating around in his mind for a long time, one so private and close to his heart that he hadn't dared to share it with anyone.

"I think I want to try and get into drama school."

(Lee had laughed like a drain at this and teased Richard relentlessly for - as he called it - 'basing his career choice on one spectacular blow job', which Richard had drily corrected by pointing out that said blow job had 'merely been a catalyst'.)

Henry had left for Cambridge a few short months later, and although they'd started off exchanging the odd letter and phone call and never officially called it quits, the distance between them slowly widened and the letters grew sparser until they stopped altogether, leaving Richard with mixed feelings. As painful as it was to acknowledge that their relationship was over, it was his final year in school and pursuing the LAMDA dream was front and center in his mind, forcing everything else, including his teenage heartbreak and the girl he fooled around with on the rebound, into second place. (It was a short-lived fling, as she gave mediocre head which made him miss Henry even more, so he broke it off soon after.)

Already fairly confident about his sexuality by the time he made the move to London, at LAMDA he had found a community of artistic, free-thinking minds that seemed tailor-made for him, where he could explore that side of himself in even greater depth. Not only was he attracted to both genders, he discovered that he attracted both equally as well and - to his own great surprise - that he had his choice of lovers regardless of the circles he moved in, gay or straight.

Over the following years, he had a handful of more or less serious relationships, each of which burned brightly for a period of time before inevitably sizzling out and ending for one reason or another. And while he enjoyed the perks of a relationship when he was in one - and was consistently faithful to each of his partners - he certainly loved being single and playing the field as well, not shying away from casual hookups and one night stands when the opportunity came along. He made sure always to be straightforward about his sexuality and it rarely posed an issue, although a few of the straight women he'd dated hadn't been so understanding about it in the longer run. Needless to say that these hadn't stayed in his life for very long.

Aged 25, he'd made the gutsy decision to move to the States for a job opportunity. Once settled in New York, he'd continued to date in the same manner, at least for the first couple of years. It turned out that Americans - women especially - went weak in the knees for his northern English accent (as well as for his intrepid Broadway aspirations) and he wasn't above milking that advantage whenever he got lonely on a Saturday night and headed down to the pub or his favorite gay club. He rarely came home alone from these outings.

The turning point came when his old friend Graham, whom he'd reconnected with shortly after the move and become very close to, asked him to be his best man at his wedding. Single at the time, he'd put on his most stylish tux and gone without a date, only to return home late that night with a  phone number tucked safely in his breast pocket. The man who had slipped it in there, sometime between Richard's well-received wedding speech and the cutting of the cake, was called Andrew, and it had only taken Richard three courses and one bottle of Chardonnay to fall head over heels in love.

Andrew was Richard's opposite in almost every way - he was a thoroughbred American, first of all, a few years older and ready to settle down. Pragmatic and sensible, he worked a steady job in banking and had never spent a dime on frivolous pastimes like theatre prior to meeting Richard. Obviously this changed once they started to date, Andrew attending most if not all of Richard's premieres, although never in the capacity of his partner. Richard's agent at the time had warned him that even in the theatre scene, being gay was generally more of an issue in the States than it was in the UK. The message was crystal clear: if Richard wanted to further his fledgling career and have any hope of seeing his name on Broadway one day, the days of 'flaunting his lifestyle', as the agent put it, were over.

(Lee was more than a little surprised to hear that Richard had ever allowed anyone to dictate how he presented himself to the world, to force him back into a closet he'd never really lived in to begin with, but then, he knew only too well how influential - and conservative - agents and other professionals in the industry could be. Richard wouldn't have been the first or the last actor to have dealt with this kind of treatment. And yet, a little voice in Lee's mind reminded him proudly, Richard had invited him to the fundraiser barely a week into their relationship, bursting out of that closet the way he'd burst onto the Broadway scene like the fucking star he deserved to be.)

For a time, Richard thought of Andrew as the man he wanted to grow old with and - yes, sometimes his mind did wander that way - maybe even marry one day. His parents were happy for him, although his mum did express concern once or twice, letting slip that he and Andrew 'were really quite different'. He'd laughed and shrugged it off at the time, but when the breakup eventually came four years later, both of them acknowledging that their opposite lifestyles were becoming more of a problem rather than less of one, he had to admit that her words had had a ring of prophecy. Over the years, Andrew had often despaired at the nature of Richard's chosen profession (periods of intense productivity interspersed with bouts of joblessness) and at the dark moods Richard fell prey to when he was between jobs, not rarely accompanied by severe stress migraines that would incapacitate him further. Richard for his part did not feel emotionally supported by his partner - who was never ill himself and didn't have a nurturing bone in his body - and withdrew more and more from the social circles Andrew moved in, tired of being the butt of his insufferable banking buddies' jokes. The differences that had attracted them to each other and cemented their relationship initially became painfully noticeable, leading to increasingly bitter arguments that left dents that could not be repaired. Contrasted with Andrew's unshakable pragmatism and wish for a secure future, Richard's still fragile career and frequent self-esteem crises proved too much of a sticking point and they ended up falling out of love over it.

Although the split itself had been relatively amicable, Richard was left genuinely heartbroken and had a hard time adjusting to being single and living by himself again after such a long time. Not the least bit tempted to fall back on his old coping mechanism of picking up a casual fuck at the bar, he'd moved into a tiny rental flat (never in a million years could he have afforded his and Andrew's loft living on an actor's wage - he _had_ however claimed the brand new washer and vacuum cleaner as his share in the relationship inheritance) and thrown himself on the job instead. Somewhat ironically, one of his first courses of action after the split was to fire his homophobic agent ("the most fucking liberating phone call of my life," he told Lee) and hire the formidable Philippa Boyens, whom he'd told straight off the bat where things stood with him and that he wouldn't put up with being marketed as straight again when he was in fact bisexual. She told him she appreciated his frankness and together they had formulated a strategy to get Richard to where he wanted to be more than ever - Broadway. 

With _The Crucible_ , that aim had been accomplished, and with _A Single Man_ Richard's other dream - of portraying a gay character on the big stage - was finally within reach as well. He was still waiting for a formal reaction to his callback audition - he was one of five actors vying for the role - and although Lee was not a praying kind of man, he was sending out all the positive thoughts for Richard to get the part. Not only was he clearly perfect for it - Lee did concede that he was biased in this, but he had had a chance to size up Richard's competition and in his opinion they had nothing on him - it would also take his career to the next level and infuse some much-needed purpose into his life. Lee had certainly been enjoying the cheeky texts and more visual materials Richard had been sending all day, but Richard needed a new project, something to boost his self-esteem other than the mind-blowing sex he and Lee had been partaking in so enthusiastically.

(On a slightly more selfish note, Lee also wanted Richard to get involved in the play because it would culminate in a premiere, a chance for him to experience that thrill of watching a play for the first time and lose himself in the world created on stage the way he had the night _Vincent_ premiered. Nothing in the world compared to that feeling, especially when it gave him an excuse to unapologetically watch Richard act his heart out on stage for a couple hours. What he had seen of the script had convinced him that it was a project worthy of Richard's singular talent and it played right into his ability to portray a character besieged by tragedy, and Lee quite simply couldn't for the life of him imagine going to see this play without Richard in the lead role.)

By the time the longest, most frustrating day of Lee's working life finally crawled to an end (the second half had brought little relief despite Richard showing mercy and keeping silent, because the ideas and images he'd already planted were still there for Lee to mull over) Lee was beyond ready to go home and find out if Richard was still up for carrying out some of his titillating suggestions from earlier. He deflected Aidan and Evie's attempts at getting him to go and grab a late dinner with them, improvising some excuse that may have fooled Aidan but definitely not Evie, and bolted out of the shop so fast that one may have thought he'd been called away on an emergency, leaving the other two to close up shop and head off to dinner without him while he raced his bike home.

When he finally slid his key into the front door lock - sweaty and slightly out of breath from the mad pedaling he'd done - Richard was waiting for him as promised, and Lee barely made it inside before he was seized by his shirt, pushed up against a wall and kissed like the end of the world was upon them, a demanding tongue invading his mouth while Richard's fingers clutched at his face and hair, something between a moan and a sob escaping Richard's throat as Lee dropped his bag and returned the kiss just as ferociously. "Finally," he breathed into Lee's mouth, "thank god." Over and over he murmured these words as he pulled Lee's head back to bare his neck and mouthed his way down to the base where, true to what he'd promised, he proceeded to brand Lee with a demonstrative red mark that would stand out even among his tattoos. The pressure of Richard's teeth drew a gasp from Lee, which tailed off into a whimper when he felt Richard lick at that spot tenderly to soften the sting. "Remember what I told you?" Richard asked heatedly. "On the phone this afternoon?"

"Uhuh," Lee moaned as he slid his hands down to cup Richard's ass and pull their hips close together. With Richard dressed in nothing but a pair of briefs, Lee could feel every inch of his hard cock, and surely Richard could feel how fast Lee was getting there too, the blood draining from his head and limbs to rush south. "It's been a hell of a day thanks to you, asshole," he admonished, pinching Richard's backside a little harder than necessary.

"Wasn't me who left you hanging this morning with an aching hard on," Richard retorted innocently, sliding his hand down to slowly unzip Lee's pants. "You owe it all to yourself."

Lee grinned and racked his brain for a clever response, but it was impossible to think clearly when Richard took his cock out and gave it a first, teasing tug, quick and sharp. "Oh fuck, Richard, yes."

"You like that?" Richard's fingers tightened slightly on his cock and squeezed again, the controlled movement making Lee's toes curl inside his shoes. Richard's other hand traveled down from Lee's shoulder, briefly stopping to tweak his nipple through the fabric of his T-shirt before landing on his hip. "Take your shirt off," he instructed hoarsely, and Lee obeyed without a moment's hesitation, happy to let Richard call the shots (for now, that was). Richard sighed approvingly, eyes and fingers exploring the plains of Lee's chest and stomach before his mouth followed suit, biting down on Lee's bare shoulder and sucking on each of his nipples before traveling steadily lower, until Lee was gifted with the heart-stopping sight of Richard kneeling in front of him, tipping his head back to look up at Lee as he ran his tongue along the length of him teasingly. It felt incredible - always did - but after the day he'd had it wasn't what Lee needed by a long shot. "Take it," he rasped, "take it in your mouth, Rich, please."

Richard smirked, seemingly pleased with Lee's impatience, but gave no signs of obeying. "Did you think about this today? Me on my knees, sucking your cock?"

"Among other things," Lee wryly confessed, "although-" He hesitated, not sure if he should continue, but one look at Richard's intrigued expression put paid to any reticence on that score. "Although in my head, it wasn't so much you sucking my cock as me fucking your mouth with it."

True though they were, the words rang almost too bold, but they put a flush of arousal on Richard's face that spread quickly to his ears and neck, and the whispered response he gave was urgent and not necessarily one Lee had expected. "Show me."

It was with a slightly disbelieving exhale that Lee reached for his cock, wrapping his fingers around the base as he brought his free hand to Richard’s chin and laid his fingers against it to exert a light, undemanding pressure. Richard understood the gesture immediately, [parting his lips](https://67.media.tumblr.com/dba0e3533893b36cb4fa2d65a5366aef/tumblr_o7q9k65uYp1ugm7l5o1_250.gif) and wetting them unthinkingly before leaning in and offering another slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue across the head, looking up obediently as if to check that he was on the right track.

“That’s it, baby,” Lee coaxed breathlessly, "that's the way, keep going just like that." Enthralled by the sight Richard was offering, so trusting and willing to take direction, he forced himself to wait, staving off the need rising within him before it broke his self-control. Then, and only then, did he slowly up the pressure of his fingers on Richard’s jaw until he opened his mouth accordingly.

Lee stared, transfixed, as Richard took the head into his mouth and then slid downwards, as far as he could on the first attempt, before pulling almost the whole way off and leaving the length of Lee’s cock shiny with saliva, and then repeating the whole movement until he was taking Lee almost to the base with no signs of discomfort, the vein pulsing in his temple the only indication that some effort was involved. It was easy, almost too easy, for Lee to give himself over to what Richard was doing - and doing so well - and to let him do with him as he pleased.

But when Richard next flicked his eyes up at him, they were almost black with lust and filled with an expectant look of pure want – and if that wasn’t an unequivocal reminder of what he hungered for, the way that both hands were snaking around to grab Lee’s ass and pull him deeper sure was.

Lee moved cautiously at first, still not quite able to believe how on board with the idea Richard was, keeping his thrusts shallow and his newfound grip on Richard’s hair relatively loose. His eyes did not leave Richard's face for a second, looking for the slightest sign of discomfort, but Richard wasn't half as cautious, even angling his head so that Lee's cock went in deeper on the next thrust and moaning in apparent approval, eyes fluttering closed in surrender. Anything that made Richard moan like that - especially when he had his mouth full and Lee could feel the sound vibrating along his cock - wasn't something that Lee could resist repeating, so he let the reins slip a little bit, threading his fingers into Richard's hair more tightly and watching his cock slide in and out of that soft, willing mouth. "Look at me," he instructed hoarsely, waiting for Richard to drag his eyes open and raise them. "God, you look gorgeous like this. So hot, baby."

Richard moaned deliriously, his eyes watering when Lee's cock scraped the back of his throat, but the grip of his hands on Lee's ass did not relent. It was Lee who eventually stopped the maddening cadence and shifted his fingers from Richard's hair to his forehead to push gently, because as intensely pleasurable as it would be, finishing so soon, balls-deep in Richard's throat, was not part of his plan for the evening. Richard released his cock with an involuntary but very satisfying pop of his mouth and looked up with confused, questioning eyes.

"That was incredible," Lee told him, rubbing the crease between Richard's brows with a reassuring thumb, "but if I had let you suck me like that for a few moments longer, I would have come before getting the chance to put my cock in you and fuck you with it proper."

Richard blinked and swallowed slowly, licking the taste of Lee off his swollen lips. "Well, Christ," he rasped, his mouth widening into a reckless grin, "we can't have that."

"No, we can't." Lee leaned down and gently laid his hand against the front of Richard's throat, delighted that his mouth opened as hungrily for his tongue as it had for his cock. "Besides, you can't scream my name when your mouth is otherwise engaged. So - how about we take this to the bedroom?"

Progress was slow but they finally made it into the bedroom stumbling, lumbering, treading on each other's toes but both too preoccupied with each other to notice, and it occurred to Lee that the semi-scientific web article he had read about men's libidos going into overdrive after forty had been bang on the money, because Richard had been completely insatiable lately and knocking one out during Lee's meal break clearly hadn't made one iota of difference - he was still desperate to be fucked.

He also wasn't the least bit shy about venting that desperation.

"Fuck me," he told Lee every time one of them came up for air, "just fuck me right now, I'm ready."

It was not an order Lee was capable of resisting - in fact, his cock ached to obey - but somehow he found the mental fortitude to disentangle himself for a moment or two to grab the condoms and lube from the bedside table before spinning Richard around, bending him over one of the corners at the foot end of the bed and nudging his thighs further apart with his knee as he tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth.

"You won't be needing that," Richard said as he looked back over his shoulder, waiting impatiently for Lee to finish.

"I'm not going to fuck you without a rubber, Rich," Lee chided, surprised by this lapse. Desperate or not, it wasn't like Richard to throw caution to the wind like this. "Not until we get the confirmation it's safe."

"I meant the lube, Lee." Richard grinned. "When I said I'm ready, I meant I'm _ready_."

It took a moment for Lee's lust-fogged brain to absorb these words. Their implication seemed too fantastical, too out of character to be true. But when he pulled Richard's briefs down to verify, he was stunned - and more than a little impressed - to discover that it was not a lie. "Richard," he stammered, struggling to unglue his tongue from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth, "what the fuck?"

"Had plenty of time on my hands, didn't I?" Richard reminded him as he wiggled out of his briefs and kicked them out of the way before repositioning, presenting such a fucking gorgeous and sinful sight with his legs spread like this that Lee had to close his eyes for a second and breathe through the wave of arousal threatening to overwhelm him. "Figured I'd surprise you."

Lee was surprised, all right, and it was tempting, oh so tempting, to just curl his fingers around Richard's hipbones and slide in right then and there, quick and easy and carefree, no hassle with lube, no precious minutes spent - not wasted, because there was enjoyment in that, too - carefully scissoring Richard open in preparation. The work had been done already, so why wouldn't he take advantage?

He got as far as positioning his cock, centering it and sliding it up and down Richard's crack a few times while holding his hips steady despite Richard's best attempts at pushing back his ass and speeding things along. "Come the fuck _on_ ," he whined, "put it in me, _please_."

"I'd like nothing better," Lee said quasi-regretfully, "but I can't quite yet. Not when you made it very clear that there was something else you wanted me to do first."

"What in god's name are you talking about?" Richard doubled his efforts to rub himself against Lee's cock and moaned in frustration when Lee withdrew and sank to his knees somewhat less than gracefully. "When did I- oh - _fuck_..."

Lee licked his lips, pausing his exploratory circling of Richard's hole to appreciate the fact that they used flavored lube exclusively. "I vividly recall you telling me in no uncertain terms that you wanted to be fucked vigorously by my tongue, but I guess I could be wrong about that. Why don't I get my phone and check?"

"Never mind what I said," Richard gasped out, a forceful shudder running through his legs when Lee lapped at him unhurriedly. He pitched forward slightly, relying on his arms to support more of his weight as Lee gradually zeroed in on his center, every curl and flick of his tongue drawing increasingly desperate sounds from Richard's throat. By the time he nudged his tongue in - only the tip, no more - those sounds had become moans of endorsement rather than protest, and they rose in volume with every added inch. Lee reveled in the lack of resistance he encountered, an absolute luxury and proof that Richard had done a thorough job, something he would reap the rewards of later. For now, he let his tongue slide out and spent a few leisurely moments sucking on his balls instead, and as he was doing this, switching back and forth between the two to divide his attention equally, Lee noticed that Richard had twisted his head around and seemed to have become transfixed with something to their left. Following his gaze, Lee realized that what Richard was straining to look at was in fact the dressing mirror, which was quickly becoming one of Lee's favorite bedroom features.

"You wanna watch, baby?" he murmured, spreading Richard's cheeks and refocusing his attentions on the tight furl of muscle hidden between them. The mirror wasn't at an ideal angle, but Richard should still get a good show. "You wanna watch as I do this?" He delivered a strong lick with the flat of his tongue, his palate picking up traces of artificial apple from the lube Richard had used to prepare himself. He repeated the same movement a few times before letting the tip of his tongue catch and starting to work his way back inside, pushing in firmly and stretching his tongue as far as it would go to make Richard's legs buckle underneath him and a cry close to a howl escape his mouth as he hollowed his back sharply and canted his hips to try and draw Lee's tongue in deeper. "Fuck yes, Lee, like that, baby."

Lee indulged him for as long as he could, building up a steady rhythm of plunging his tongue in over and over and not realizing that he was forgetting to breathe until he saw stars behind his eyelids from the lack of oxygen and had to pull out and suck some air into his empty lungs while Richard half knelt, half sprawled on the bed whimpering plaintively. Both his hands were clenched into the bed covers, his cock untouched between his legs, and Lee decided it was time to let the man have his reward. He wiped his chin and got to his feet, pivoting Richard's prostrate body so they were facing the mirror more fully, Richard's knees spread wide on the edge of the bed and his torso raised in a more or less upright position.

"God, Lee," Richard breathed, wide eyes under tousled hair meeting Lee's gaze in the mirror, "I'm not sure how long I can stay like this once you get started."

"It's okay, baby," Lee soothed, gripping Richard's shoulder with one hand and looking down briefly to line up. "I've got you. I'm not gonna let you fall over."

They both moaned on the first, effortless thrust, Lee wishing he could take a picture of Richard's face in that moment and treasure it forever. He slid in up to the hilt and stayed like that for a long,  savoring moment, and despite his promise he had to make a conscious effort not to push Richard down onto the bed, abandon all restraint and start pounding into him then and there.

Only once he felt he had himself in hand again did Lee start to move - finally, finally - establishing a steady, measured pace that didn't please Richard much, if his dissatisfied grunts were anything to go by. He tried pushing himself back onto Lee's cock to amend this situation, and when that didn't work, he angled himself upright and twisted his head around, lifting his left arm to guide Lee's mouth to his in a wordless plea for kisses. Initially shy about kissing after rimming, he'd shed that inhibition over time and taken to the activity quite enthusiastically, moaning wantonly when Lee's tongue pushed against his eagerly and pulling him closer still. It wasn't until they broke apart breathlessly and made eye contact in the mirror that Lee caught a glimpse of the swallow tattoo on Richard's left bicep. Seeing it still gave him a jolt every time, and he reached up to touch it, watching in the mirror as he traced it with his fingers and felt Richard's fingers tightening in his hair.

"God, you look amazing like this," he murmured, the words eliciting a slight tremor that he felt deep within Richard's core. "We'll have to use that mirror next time I let you ride my cock the way you did last night." Still watching, he brought his fingers to Richard's nipple and rubbed it deftly, relishing the way Richard arched against him and squeezing the nub between his fingers to get an even stronger reaction. "Would you like that? Do you like watching yourself when I'm balls-deep inside you and you still want more?"

Richard kissed him roughly by way of an answer, whining low in his throat when Lee lifted his hand and wrapped it gently around the front of his throat. At the same time, he slid his other arm around Richard's waist to hold him up and steady as he jostled him with thrust after thrust, egged on tirelessly by Richard, who held on to the back of Lee's neck as if for dear life and angled his head away to offer up his own neck and shoulder for Lee's bruising bites and kisses that soon littered his summer-tanned skin. Watching Richard in the mirror as he fucked him, Lee felt a streak of possessiveness take hold, a fierce and visceral need to wrap the man securely in his arms and never let go, to make him feel more wanted, more appreciated and more loved than anyone else ever had. He couldn't articulate that desire in words the way he wanted to, only act on it, so he gave in to Richard's pleas and increased the force of his thrusts, moaning hard into his shoulder as he bit down.

Richard laughed breathlessly. "Are you branding me too?"

"You bet I am."

"Good." Richard reached down with one hand, sliding it across Lee's hipbone and around to the back. His gaze in the mirror was challenging, mischievous, and Lee gasped when he felt those long, dexterous fingers grabbing and squeezing his ass and pulling him deeper before inching closer to the center of him - circling, teasing him lightly with the tip of his longest finger. It was a spontaneous thing, unexpected but welcome - very much so - and Lee slowed his movements, ceasing them almost completely to keep still and let Richard do as he wished. Those spectacular blow jobs that Richard had been treating him to, featuring a finger or two and Lee writhing around them with unabashed pleasure, were one thing - but a touch like that during sex itself was a new and significant step forward, and the fact that Richard felt confident enough to do this much was an encouraging sign. Lee tilted his chin up to guide his mouth closer for another kiss - but while he'd meant to keep it short and sweet, a mere reassurance, it rapidly evolved into something a lot more heated, his hand gripping Richard's jaw and his tongue deep in Richard's mouth and Richard's finger, god, his finger, maintaining that excruciatingly gentle yet deliberate rhythm that made Lee yearn for a better angle.

He let out an embarrassingly anxious whine when it disappeared, only for Richard to break the kiss to suck it into his mouth and wet it thoroughly - never looking away from Lee's eyes as he did so - before it returned to Lee's entrance and resumed rubbing with more insistence. The added pressure and the cool slickness of his fingertip made Lee's cock throb within its confines, so forcefully that Richard could surely feel it too and know just how strongly the touch affected him.

"Feels good?" he checked all the same, tipping his head back to collect another kiss, and Lee was more than happy to oblige him.

"Amazing," he corrected hoarsely, pushing back against that questing finger slightly, "god, Rich, that feels fucking incredible, I love your hands so much, baby. I'd love for you to put it in me deeper and fuck me with it as I fuck you."

"Yeah?" Richard grinned salaciously. "We'll have to figure out a way to make that happen sometime, then. But what's going to happen right now is that you are going to get a move on and fuck me the way you said you would." He flicked his finger teasingly. "You remember the instructions I gave you regarding that on the phone this afternoon, don't you?"

Lee nodded and leaned down to resume kissing Richard's neck. "I seem to recall that you said something about wanting me to give it to you as deep and rough as you could take it."

"That is indeed exactly what I said." Richard gave Lee's ass a final squeeze and braced himself on the bed as he leaned forward, clenching provocatively around Lee's cock. "So what are you waiting for?"

There was no way Lee could do anything but act promptly on that challenge.

"Tell me if it's too much," he croaked, gripping Richard's waist with both hands, and began to move again, long, leisurely thrusts he knew he would not be able to keep up for long. Each one was welcomed by Richard, his back hollowing in the middle as he dropped to his elbows, winding his fingers into the covers to brace himself. "It’s not too much," he gasped. "Please, more."

Lee had groaned at that and cranked the force of his thrusts up a notch, snapping his hips into Richard's more energetically and feeling those strong muscles grip him like a vise, every inch of the way. The sight of their bodies meeting, and Richard's slowly crumpling face in the mirror - it was all too much, all too overwhelming, and Lee soon found the last vestiges of his self-control slipping as white hot pressure built rapidly in his belly and one of his hands found its way into Richard's hair. He could tell by the sheen of sweat gathering in the dip of Richard's back that he wasn't far behind him, despite the fact that both of Richard's hands were still curled into the bed covers and hadn't gone near his cock even once, as though still obedient to the instructions Lee had given him on the phone that afternoon.

" _Please_ ," Richard repeats, and it is this hoarse plea that brings Lee back to the present and prompts him to abandon his meandering reminiscences about the day's events - not a single one of which will be lightly forgotten - in favor of focusing fully on the deep, insistent grind of his cockhead against Richard's prostate. There isn't a feeling in the world more empowering than this, knowing that he can take Richard apart like this, make him writhe and beg and bring him this close to the edge without a single touch to his cock. It gives Lee a triumphant sense of accomplishment like nothing he has ever felt before, not with Luke and sure as hell not with any of his other partners.

Richard is teetering, swaying on that precipice, ready - oh so ready - to fall, like a ripe, blushing fruit on a tree. He is trembling with the need for it and waiting for Lee to deliver that final little push. Lee can feel it in everything.

Making sure not to break pace – even if his thrusts grow slightly shallower in the process, which Richard promptly objects to – he leans forward to drop a kiss between Richard's shoulder blades, bite his neck gently and then his already bruised shoulder a little less so. It draws a needy whimper from Richard, who turns his head around to attempt a kiss, the stubble on his damp cheek scraping Lee's.

"Close?" Lee checks, the question more a grunt than an actual word, and Richard nods, the slack-jawed expression of pure want on his face nearly tipping Lee over the edge right then. "Like this? You want me to get you off just like this?" Another wordless nod, and Lee brushes his lower lip briefly with his thumb before straightening up and pushing in deep again, reveling in the shaky exhale the thrust earns, like he is forcing the air from Richard’s lungs himself.

"Come on then, baby, come for me," he encourages, finding his angle and pursuing it rigorously, guiding Richard’s hips in counterpoint to his own. He loves the intimacy of fucking face to face - not least because it’s so goddamn satisfying to see the almost agonized bliss on Richard’s face when he comes - but on the other hand, having Richard on hands and knees like this is exhilarating in its own right, every one of Richard's guttural moans spurring him on, motivating him to earn more of those addictive responses and make the man come undone with pleasure. He is sure that he could fuck Richard like this for hours - and love every second of it - if they both had the stamina, but Richard is unraveling more with every jostle, muffling his cries in the pillow by his head as Lee fucks him with abandon.

"Louder," Lee groans through gritted teeth. "Let me hear you, baby. Let the whole building hear how hard I'm about to make you come."

Obediently - but not without some difficulty - Richard frees his mouth, lifting his head up even though his eyes remain closed, his face momentarily frozen in that peculiar expression of anguish and euphoria that would be confusing if Lee didn't know exactly what it means. "Lee, I'm coming," he warns with a deep groan, and just in time, too, as the rhythmical convulsions deep within his body stutter and his untouched cock twitches between his legs. The very next stroke of Lee's cock does him in, his moan becoming a howl as the first rush of come streaks out of him and onto the covers.

"God, you're beautiful," Lee gasps, "absolutely gorgeous, Rich." He can't help but reach around and take Richard's cock into the palm of his hand, enthralled by the way each of his punctuated thrusts prompts a new surge of come until Richard has spent it all and he's left trembling and near collapse, the last of it trickling warm over Lee's fingers. Lee increases his pace then, holding Richard up by the hips as he chases his own release, only to have it crash over him seconds later, tearing an embarrassingly loud bellow from him as he shoves in deep and spills violently into the condom. Beneath him Richard gives a pleading whimper and quietly mumbles something into the pillow. Once he is done, Lee pitches his weight forward, kissing the man's sweaty neck and bruise-littered shoulder gently. "Are you okay, baby?" he asks, not without concern. As vocally adamant as Richard had been about wanting it rough, the divide between pain and pleasure can be thin and Lee isn't sure if he's accidentally crossed over to the wrong side.

"I'm fine," Richard murmurs and he smiles, heavy-hooded eyes lending his face a sleepy, contented expression. "I'm great. God, that was some fuck, babe. Thank you."

"Mmm." Lee nuzzles the nape of Richard's neck a few moments longer. Unexpectedly, his orgasm hasn't left him sleepy but invigorated, and he certainly wouldn't be opposed to a second round fairly soon, depending on how well Richard recovers. "Better than all that jerking off, isn't it?"

"Fuck, yes. So much better."

"Good." Lee grabs hold of the condom and carefully pulls out, earning a whine of protest from Richard, who rolls over and pulls him in for a long, lazy kiss before he's even had the chance to discard the condom properly. "Rich," he sighs as he tries half-heartedly to pull away from Richard's asking mouth, because it's hard to relax into an after-sex cuddle with a soiled condom still on his prick, "hang on, Rich, just let me-"

Before he can finish, he feels Richard fingers reaching for him, pulling off the condom and reaching for a tissue to wrap it in. "I assume you'll want to shower," he says, dropping another kiss on Lee's mouth before trailing several down his neck. "Long day at work."

"Extremely long day, thanks to you." Lee smiles and slides the tip of his finger from Richard's forehead and down his nose to his lips. "For your information, I've never had anyone beg for my cock so insistently and for such an extended period of time."

Richard smiles innocently. "And how did it feel?"

"Amazing," Lee replies truthfully. "Flattering. And incredibly distracting." He slides one hand down to Richard's delectable ass - the pale skin is already showing several discolorations, imprints left by Lee's overenthusiastic fingers - and gives it a playful but gentle squeeze. "If I may make an observation - for someone who didn't bottom until recently, you've certainly taken to it with enthusiasm."

"I guess it just takes me a while to ease into it with a person," Richard says, responding to the teasing remark more seriously than Lee had expected. "We never really talked about it before, although we probably should have, but I'm all for switching it up."

"God, so am I," Lee says wholeheartedly, making Richard chuckle and joining in. "I know that may sound strange, given how we've been doing things lately, but-"

"I know what you meant, Lee, and it's okay. You can take all the time you need. I think we're doing just fine, and I couldn't be happier."

"Okay," Lee says, not without relief. A part of him is impatient to get back to the way things were before they fell apart, but he knows by now that this isn't something that can be rushed. As much as he trusts Richard - and he truly does, more so even than he trusts himself - there is still a mental barrier inside him that has him baulking at that final hurdle, and whether it is mere fear or something else - something _more_ \- he won't put the progress they've already made at risk. This relationship, and this man, is far too precious and too important to him to be squandered with one reckless decision.

They eventually drag themselves out of bed and each other's arms to take a hot, luxurious shower - which includes lots of lots of lazy kissing and, near the end, Richard getting down on his knees and bringing Lee to another spectacular orgasm with his mouth and two solicitous fingers. Afterwards, they towel each other off and curl up naked in bed together, trading kisses as well as tidbits about their day until they both quietly drift off to sleep.

Next thing Lee registers is a loud and unexpected noise disrupting his sleep, and dazed as he is, his first impulse is to reach for the snooze button on the alarm clock, only to realize that it's almost 3 AM and the noise isn't the beeping of the alarm but his cell phone ringing. He doesn't recognize the caller's number, but a late call like this can only mean bad news. Quickly, so as not to wake Richard who is completely lost to the world, he taps the answer button and lifts the phone to his ear, croaking a drowsy 'hello?'

There are several beats of silence on the other end, and Lee rubs his eyes as he waits in vain for the mystery caller to identify themselves. "Hello?" he tries again, more impatiently.

"Uh." It is a voice Lee doesn't recognize straight away, cracked and sluggish. "Lee?"

"Yeah." Not a wrong number then, but Lee still can't put a name on the voice. "Who is this?"

For a few moments, Lee only hears the sounds of wind and distant sirens. Whoever the caller is, apparently they are outside on the street in the dead of night. "You said to call," they finally rasp, "day or night." The voice cracks on the last word, and it is this that has Lee sitting up and taking notice, something in his sleep-fogged mind clicking into place. He does know that voice after all.

"Jack," he whispers, remembering the defiant seventeen-year-old kid with the gaunt face and haunted look, who had refused all the help Lee had tried to offer. "Jack, is that you?"


	37. Falcon

When Dean had predicted this phone call - four, maybe five days ago - Lee had been skeptical to say the least.

Lee's first assumption when he saw Dean's name flashing on the screen of his cell phone was that the reporter was probably calling with an update on the article, which was supposed to be published later this month. But the second he answered and heard Dean's frazzled tone, he knew this was about something else entirely. And to be sure, Dean had barely paused to say hello before launching into a frantic monologue about Jack, who had not come home for a few days and been officially reported missing by his desperate parents. Sadly, as alarming as it was to hear, Lee couldn't say he was wholly surprised by this news.

"And so I happened to think of you," Dean concluded, voice lilting up hopefully at the end. "Have you by any chance heard anything? However insignificant-"

“I'm sorry, I haven’t,” Lee said as gently as he could, knowing how disappointing his answer must be to Dean, who sighed and muttered a series of expletives under his breath.

“But you’ll let me know when you do?”

“ _If_ I do,” Lee corrected, “yes, of course I will, right away. But please don't pin your hopes on me, Dean. From the conversation I had with him, I didn't get the feeling that my words made much of an impact. As much as I wish I could have helped him, it wasn't the right time and I don't think I was the right person for it, either."

"Then you think wrong," Dean said. "Jack didn't say much - he never does - but he did talk about you afterwards. Is it true that you gave him your number?"

"Yeah, I did. I'd be surprised if he used it, though. Has he run away before?"

"Once or twice," Dean said. "Never stayed out longer than 24 hours, though, which is why my aunt and uncle decided to call the police this time. They've put up posters and have been driving around town looking for him every day but so far no luck. The whole family is on high alert. They've already been through this nightmare once with Kieran, so you can probably imagine how worried they are."

"That must be incredibly tough." Lee wandered over to the window and looked outside, playing idly with the cord of the blinds. "Still, try not to think the worst, Dean. I lived on the streets for a long time and got back on my feet eventually. Jack may be troubled but he isn't stupid. Keep looking for him and keep making calls to the police. I'm sure he'll turn up soon."

“I hope so. But Lee, please keep an eye on your phone in the meantime. If he runs into trouble out there, he’s not going to call his parents or me. He’s going to call someone who understands what he's going through, someone who's been there and won't judge him, and I think that person will be you.”

"I'm afraid that when it comes to mentoring troubled youths I am poorly qualified at best," Lee said with a sad, slightly self-deprecating laugh. "But if he does call, I promise I'll do my best to help him and let you know."  
  
"Appreciate it, Lee," Dean said earnestly. "Thank you, and let's keep in touch."

They'd chatted about the article for a few minutes - it was coming together very well, Dean told him, and his contact at _People_ had seen the first draft and loved it - but after they hung up, Lee had struggled to shake the heaviness of heart that plagued him for the rest of the day, his thoughts returning to Jack over and over again. Unfortunately, he was able to imagine only too well, in painstaking detail, where Jack was right now - because even after all those years, he still remembered the bleakness of that existence, the pitying and embarrassed looks from people hurrying by, the constant need to scrape pennies together for that next high, the putrid smell of the dumpsters he searched for edible morsels or hid behind as he prepared whatever cocktail of pills he had managed to score that day - but, short of prowling the streets every night in the hope that he could somehow track Jack down in a city of over eight million people, there was nothing he could do but cross his fingers for a good outcome and wait.

There had been a large part of him that had despaired at what he’d thought was blind optimism and misplaced faith on Dean's part - but maybe it hadn’t been after all, because here is the phone call as per Dean's predictions, putting all of Lee's doubts to shame.

“Jack?” he repeats, for the third time since cottoning onto the late night caller’s identity. Jack is still on the line - Lee can hear him breathing startlingly rapidly - but so far he hasn’t responded to his name in any way. Lee pinches his arm to get his brain to wake up faster, worried he'll say the wrong thing and scare Jack into disconnecting. "You're right, I did say you could call me anytime, and I'm glad you did. What's up? Are you okay?"

He notices Richard stirring in his sleep, so he quietly slips out of bed and walks into the living room so as not to wake him up. "You can talk to me, Jack," he prods carefully when he gets no response, striking as gentle and encouraging a tone as he can. "I won't judge, you know that."

"Uh." When Jack finally speaks again, his words are slurred and come out sounding thick, an indicator that he's recently used drugs of some description, although he's clearly not so far gone that he can't form intelligible sentences (even if they are a bit disjointed). "I'm, I think I'm in some real trouble here, man. Feel really fucking weird, like I'm gonna puke my guts out or worse, and my heart's going a hundred miles per minute. That fucking pill... pills, or whatever... Fucking dealer done screwed me over." A hiccupped burst of - mildly hysterical - laughter. "Funny, right? Don't you think that's funny?"

Frowning worriedly, Lee slowly sits down. "You took something just now? Do you remember what, and how much?"

"Not a fucking clue, man, but it's crap. This is all crap, all of it." All of a sudden, Jack starts to cry, in sorrowful, wheezing sobs that make Lee's heart clench inside his chest. "Am I gonna die out here? Like Kieran did?"

"Jack, listen to me." Lee, now fully awake, presses his phone to his ear as if to bring Jack closer. He is acutely aware that he is out of his depth here, his own experiences not as helpful as he’d like them to be, but he keeps his voice steady and reassuring (or at least attempts to) all the same. It could be worse, a rational part of his brain reminds him: at least the kid isn’t so far gone that the idea of dying fills him with relief rather than fear. God knows Lee had been in that state of mind more than once. "I promise you're not going to die, but if you can't remember what you took, you need to go to a hospital immediately and get yourself checked out. Some combinations of drugs can make you very sick. Do you know where you are?"

"Dunno," Jack slurs, "some park."

"Okay," Lee says slowly even as his mind is working at full speed, frenziedly trying to catalogue his old hangouts in the hope that he will somehow instinctively know when he has hit on the right one. "Can you get out, find a public road? If I know where you are, I can tell you how to get the nearest hospital."

"No, hell no." Jack starts crying again. "I don't wanna move. Those guys are still out there looking for me."

"What guys?" A horrible suspicion settles in Lee's heart, and Jack takes too long to answer for his liking. "Jack, what guys? Are you in danger? Is someone after you?"

"I just want to go home," Jack says hoarsely, in a mournful tone that makes him sound heartbreakingly young. "Can I please just go home? I want to go home."

He keeps stammering those words over and over again, his avoidance of Lee’s questions adding to Lee's fears, and each repetition of that one simple plea breaking his heart a little more. He leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his already mussed-up hair as he tries to keep a level head and figure out the next step. "Okay, Jack, try to stay calm. We're gonna get you home, I promise, but I need you to answer a couple questions. Are you safe at the moment? Somewhere out of sight?"

"Yeah, I think so." Jack sniffs. "I'm under some sort of bridge or staircase. It's dark as fuck. Can you come get me? Please?"

"I will, Jack," Lee promises spontaneously, not permitting himself a moment's thought or hesitation, "but I need you to help me figure out in which park you are. Is it in Manhattan?"

He can practically hear the cogs in Jack's mind turning at what objectively is a ridiculously simple question, but he knows all too well just how easy it is for someone under the influence to get disoriented in a dark and strange environment, even in a city of millions like New York. "Uh... Manhattan, yeah."

"Good. That already helps a lot, Jack. Is it Central Park?" Lee hopes to god that it is not - combing an area as large as Central Park for a scared, confused runaway in the middle of the night would be a tall order.

"I don't know. I don't think so. I'm not sure." There is a silence on the other end as Jack appears to try and untangle his drug-muddled thoughts while Lee waits without further prompting, careful not to overwhelm him with too many questions at once - or, worse, to scare him off entirely. "I think- I heard one of those guys call it a weird name- uh- the candy aisle. Yeah."

For a moment, Lee's breath stutters inside his chest, and a frosty chill turns his blood to ice. "Are you sure that's what they said?"

"I- yeah. I'm sure." Jack's teeth are starting to chatter, although it can't be from the cold, as the last few nights have been hot and humid. That at least is something. Lee is intimately familiar with being homeless in New York in the winter, and he wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy. "Does that help?"

This time it is Lee who needs a moment to find his bearings again and forcibly shake off the memories flooding his mind all in a rush: long days, even longer nights, too-short highs interspersed with crushing lows and the overwhelming certainty that things were never going to improve. God, he would have given anything to have had someone who he could call when he first realized just how far in over his head he was, but even if he _had_ conquered his shame long enough to pick up the phone, alone and terrified and not sober enough to get himself to safety, he wouldn't have known who to call, because by then he’d already managed to alienate everyone who’d ever cared.

“Lee?” Jack repeats pitifully, his pleading tone jerking Lee out of his reverie and making him sit up with determination.

"Yeah. Yeah, Jack, it does. Listen, stay on the line, okay? Lay low and don't hang up. I'm gonna wake up Richard and we'll be there as soon as possible."

"Does he really have to come?" Jack asks reluctantly. "Can't it be just you?"

"Yeah, Jack, I'm sorry but he has to come," Lee tells him gently. "The park can be a gnarly place at this time of night, and some safety in numbers will definitely not hurt, especially if you're not alone out there. You can trust him, I promise. Richard is absolutely solid, and more secretive than The Vatican."

A sigh of resignation on the other end. "Okay, I guess. Just - no cops, okay? And please hurry. This battery could die on me any minute for all I know."

"We'll do our best, Jack. You just stay put, okay? And don't hang up," he repeats emphatically as he marches back into the bedroom and establishes that Richard is still fast asleep. He'd been out for the count almost since the second his head touched the pillow - not surprising after all that energetic sex and the long, hot shower following it - and Lee is sorry to have to wake him up, but there is nothing for it.

In his sleep, Richard has rolled onto Lee's side of the bed as though seeking his body warmth unconsciously, arm flung out across the mattress and face buried in Lee's pillow. The thin summer covers have been kicked down to spill over the foot end of the bed, drawing Lee's unconsciously roaming gaze to the darkening bruises his fingers have left on Richard's hips and ass and reminding him that he, too, is stark naked. With the temperatures they've been having lately, even a pair of briefs feels redundant at night. And, not unimportantly, they've found that sleeping in the nude makes tumbling into a lazy morning fuck that much easier and more pleasant.

Regretfully, but resigned to what needs to be done, he leans down over the bed and gently slides his fingers through Richard's hair. "Hey, Rich - Richard, wake up."

When Richard doesn't so much as bat an eyelash in response, Lee has no choice but to resort to a slightly more forceful approach, taking Richard's shoulder and shaking him until he stirs. "Wake up, baby."

"Hmmm? Whut?" Richard burrows deeper into the pillow and it takes several more shakes before his eyes crack open to narrow slits and he turns his bleary gaze in Lee's direction. "Bloody hell," he mumbles, a sleepy smile twitching around the corners of his mouth as his gaze sweeps up and down Lee's front, "I was just having a dream a lot like this, but this is even better."

Lee can't help but smile, shaking his head and pressing his phone to his chest to mute their conversation. "None of that now, Rich, I'm sorry."

"Hmph." Drowsy and still only half conscious, Richard reaches for him with a heavy arm, blindly groping around yet somehow managing to latch onto Lee's wrist and pull him closer. "C'mere, love," he coaxes sluggishly, "come back to bed. You don't want me to get cold and lonely, do you?"

Good grief - leave it to Richard to be shamelessly flirtatious like that when he was in a sex-induced half coma barely a minute ago.

Amused despite himself, Lee indulges him with an apologetic kiss before gently pulling away. "Can't, babe, I'm sorry. Can you get up and go splash some cold water in your face? I need you to come with me. To Riverside Park."

"Riverside Park?" Richard blinks up at him confusedly, the fuzziness of sleep slowly lifting from his face as the realization that something must be seriously wrong finally sinks in. Open worry replaces it. "What, right this minute? Why?"

"It's Jack." With the phone still clutched to his chest, Lee gives a helpless shrug, knowing full well what he's asking Richard to do for a wayward adolescent he's only met once. But he has to - like he told Jack, he can't do this on his own. "He's in some sort of trouble, Rich, and he needs help. I need you to help me help him. He called me, and that's a really big fucking deal, Rich, and I can't let him down." Inexplicably, he is all of a sudden dangerously close to tears himself, and takes a deep breath to stave off the rising tide of emotions threatening his composure. He can't afford to lose it, not when he needs it now more than ever, not when there is this much at stake. "Please, Rich. I'll explain on the way over."

Richard needs a moment to let Lee's barrage of words sink in and compute what it is that's being asked of him, but, to his credit, he doesn't raise objections or laugh in Lee's face or demand more information on the spot. "Right, where the fuck are my briefs?" he mutters as he sits up groggily and flicks the bedside lamp on, glancing around the room in vain hopes of spotting the briefs that he’d been wearing until Lee had skillfully peeled them off him the evening before - god only knows where they are now. His gaze eventually lands on the stack of laundered and ironed shirts atop the dresser that he’d promised to put away yesterday - clearly he’d had other priorities that had taken precedence - and a pair of his jeans that technically belong in the hamper but are hanging over the back of the chair.  
   
"Ah, sod it, that’ll do, I'm going commando."  
   
As he watches Richard slip into his jeans and shirt impressively quickly - albeit less than gracefully, moving a bit stiffly still as a result of their earlier exertions and struggling briefly to undo the buttons on the shirt before giving up on them entirely and wrestling it over his head - Lee takes an inappropriate second or two to just marvel at this man and imagine what might have happened if he had ever tried to rouse Luke at an ungodly hour like this to rescue a teenage runaway. Most likely he would have muttered something about Lee being a bleeding heart and rolled over to keep on snoring without a care in the world. And then there is Richard, who springs into action without thinking twice, without asking questions, because he knows that Lee wouldn't be asking this if it wasn't important - if it wasn't a matter of life and death.  
  
As yet oblivious to the emotional turbulence rattling Lee's mind, Richard is already lacing up his trainers when his gaze falls on Lee, who hasn't moved from his spot by the side of the bed, frozen in place and entirely too preoccupied by these overwhelming feelings of love to follow his example.  
  
“Lee,” Richard says gently, the sound of his voice acutely bringing Lee back to the here and now, “as much as I love admiring you in your birthday suit, unless you've changed your mind about this venture you’re going to need to put some clothes on as well.”  
  
“I - right,” Lee mutters, embarrassed to have been caught staring and looking all besotted during a crisis like this (although it is far from the first time he's lapsed into dreamy thoughts about how he managed to acquire such a perfect boyfriend, he usually picks more suitable moments to do so) and offering Richard a sheepish smile as he finally gets moving, too.  
  
His own clothes are easy enough to locate, scattered along the path between the bedroom and the front door (all he has to do is retrace his steps), and by the time he has jammed his feet into his shoes Richard is handing him a jacket and a flashlight, tucking a blanket under his arm and sliding a couple of granola bars into his pocket (how the hell does Richard have the presence of mind to think of these things, anyway, when all Lee can focus on is the haunting mental image of Jack hiding in the dark like a scared little mouse, lonely and sick and miserable and not knowing what kind of havoc the drugs he'd taken were wreaking on his body?). He's also thought to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, his keys jangling in his spare hand like they do whenever he’s nervous.  
  
“Lee…” he says uncertainly, “how are we…?”  
  
“The car, Rich, come on, we have to take your car.”  
  
He is barely aware of the words coming out of his mouth, let alone their significance, but Richard doesn’t question them, hustling him out the door and into the elevator (which, thank god, doesn’t take the years to arrive that it usually does - not too surprising perhaps given the time of night). During the short ride down, neither speaks, Richard keeping his unnervingly observant gaze fixed on Lee, who mumbles the occasional update or reassurance to Jack into his phone.  
  
Because if he stops doing that, if he takes his focus off Jack even for a second and lets himself pause to think about what he is about to do, he may just break down and tell Richard to forget all about this foolhardy and potentially dangerous plan and go back upstairs to hide under the covers.  
  
And that can't happen. He can't give in to fear now, not with Jack's safety and wellbeing at stake. So he doesn’t think at all, sending Richard his best reassuring smile (although it probably resembles a grimace more) and stealthily wiping his clammy hand on his pants before reaching out to take Richard's and squeeze it slightly.  
  
He has, quite literally, never been in Richard's car before, but once he slides into shotgun position he is relieved to find that it smells more like Richard’s cologne than anything else, none of that lingering new car smell that gives him nausea and makes him feel like he can't properly breathe. There are maps and magazines sticking out of the side pockets and a blue Leicester City F.C. pennant is dangling from the rearview mirror and really, the interior almost feels cozy, like an extension of Richard’s apartment (so long as Lee ignores the fact that he's sitting in a death machine that weighs several tonnes and can go 100 mph and kill or permanently maim a person if the driver so much as sneezes at the wrong time).  
  
“Are you good?” Richard asks as he turns the key in the ignition, the engine jumping to life with a growl, and all Lee can do is nod. He is not okay - he is far from okay - but he will be. Richard pushes a button and the window on Lee's side slides down a quarter of the way, letting in some fresh air that brings immediate relief to Lee's strained nerves.  
  
The first minute or two on the road are difficult, but traffic is mercifully sparse and Richard drives sedately, keeping to the speed limit and not lurching between lanes or running red lights, for which Lee is grateful. Once his pulse normalizes somewhat, he gives Richard a quick rundown of the events - as far as he's been able to reconstruct them from Jack's rambling, that is. Unfortunately he still has no idea who Jack is hiding for and why, as all his questions on that front have gone unanswered.

Richard doesn't interrupt, letting Lee finish his story and quietly absorbing all the information before asking, "And you're absolutely sure that's where he is? There are hundreds of public parks in New York - we could waste valuable time looking at the wrong one."

"I'm as certain as I can be," Lee says. "He seems fairly disoriented, not to mention scared out of his wits, but he swears he heard one of those men refer to the place as the candy aisle. Granted, things may have changed in the last fifteen years, but back in my day that's what the crackheads and dealers called Riverside Park."

Confusion flickers across Richard's brow. "Why?"

"Well, it's got this long, narrow shape, right? And after dark, once the families with kids and the tourists had all left, it became this whole different world. All kinds of drugs changing hands there - I imagine that hasn't changed." Lee turns away from the window to look at Richard, who doesn't look wholly enlightened yet, so he elaborates. "Candy is a slang name for cocaine - well, one of the many - and Riverside was always a good place to shop around for some. The place was so infamous for it that the police did regular raids there. I barely escaped one or two myself."

Richard nods his head in understanding and then immediately shakes it. "There is a side of New York that you know and I don't," he says contemplatively. "Somehow I keep forgetting that."

"That's okay, Rich," Lee says, mustering a smile. "Sometimes I do too, thank god."

Richard lapses into silence for a block or two. "So where exactly in the park is Jack hiding? Riverside spans, what, practically the entire length of the Upper West Side if not more? It may not be Central Park but it's still bloody big."

"He's taken shelter under some kind of bridge or staircase," Lee says. "I've been trying to get Jack to describe the area in more detail but it's dark and he's really frightened. I don't want to overask and have him shut down on me." He lifts the phone back to his ear. "Okay, Jack, we're on our way, won't be much longer now so try to describe to me again what you see around you."

"I told you, not a whole fucking lot," Jack grunts in reply, and Lee considers it a hopeful sign that Jack is able to have an attitude at a time like this. It is certainly preferable to the crying. "It's some sort of staircase, like I said, kinda old and rickety looking and full of ugly-ass graffiti. And it stinks of pee down here."

Unfortunately, that description applies to just about any Manhattan staircase, so Lee has no choice but to try and press him a bit more. "Can you remember where you were earlier and how you ended up where you are now? You don't have to tell me what happened, just try to give me some clues, any clues at all. Did you see any landmarks that will help me pinpoint where you are?"

There is a silence then, Jack clearly struggling to recall the night's events and recount them in a coherent way. "I was just trying to score some weed tonight, man. Just some fucking weed. Didn't see my regular dealer so hit up someone else, this slightly older guy. Kinda reminded me of my uncle." Jack laughs derisively. "So we haggle for a bit and he gives me some weed to try. Pretty good stuff, too. Then he says he's got something even better and he's like, you have to try this. So we go into this, bathroom building I guess is what it was, next to some kind of kids' playground, with swings and slides and stuff."

Lee despairs - he can tell that Jack is doing his best to be helpful, but playgrounds and public restrooms are legion in Riverside Park and these directions are not bringing him any closer to pinpointing Jack's location at all. But he makes sure not to let Jack know this, encouraging him to keep going in the hope that other memories will be unlocked as they go. "That's good, Jack, you're doing well. Do you remember anything else about this playground that you saw? Any specific features that stood out?"

"N-no," Jack says thickly, but his tone betrays hesitation.

"Are you sure? Take your time, Jack. Even the smallest detail can help."

"Ah, I don't know, man," Jack says reluctantly. "I thought I saw something as I was running away, but I was probably tripping on those pills the dealer fed me. It was too fucking weird to be real."

Lee notes that Jack seems to deliberately avoid talking about what happened inside the restroom, which sharpens his suspicions, but he has other priorities for now. "It's okay, Jack, I've had those hallucinations as well and I know they can be fucking scary. Just tell me what you think you saw, no matter how bizarre."

"Animals," Jack confesses in a whisper. "I nearly tripped over one of 'em right before I jumped the fence. They looked like those big, fat things, those, uh, hippos, I guess. Yeah, hippos."

Lee's heart leaps into his throat, and his reaction must have given something away, because he can see Richard turning his head and giving him a concerned look. Lee shakes his head wordlessly, the only sign of reassurance he can manage for the time being.

What Jack had seen was definitely not a hallucination, and it is a clue, finally, the first real, useful clue he's provided. The hippos of Riverside Park are famous, a popular attraction for families with young children as well as tourists. There are at least a dozen sculptures all in all, adults as well as babies, and on hot summer days one or two spout cool, refreshing water from their yawning mouths. Kids love the hippos, love riding on their backs and playing in the spray of the water, and Lee remembers spending many an hour sitting on one of the benches there and drawing. Drawing the hippos, drawing the kids at play, sometimes with the family dog bounding happily along and barking. He would then try to sell those drawings to the parents - eight to ten drawings would buy him an okay fix, fifteen would see him settled for the rest of the day - only to have them look at him like he was the scum of the earth. His go-to alibi - that of an art student scraping together some additional income - rarely stood up to scrutiny with these protective parents, especially as he got skinnier and his clothes started showing the wear and tear of life on the streets. He got kicked off the playground more times than he cares to remember, sometimes physically, but being called names was far worse. Creep, pedophile and worthless piece of junkie trash were only a few of the insults he'd had to endure on that one playground alone, and although he could hardly argue with the junkie part, the fact that people thought he was capable of harming a child was unbearable. More than once he curled up under a bridge afterwards and cried unstoppably, sick with self-disgust and loneliness.

But he pushes these memories away forcibly - he has to, otherwise he will end up drowning in them, and then he will be no use to anyone - and, relieved that Richard has to keep his eyes on the road while he drives (even if he doesn't know where he's going yet, heading north and trusting that Lee will provide further instruction in due time), continues to pepper Jack with questions. He has to get all the information from him that he possibly can, knowing that if Jack passes out or becomes much less coherent than he already is, they will have their work cut out for them trying to find him before dawn. So he asks, and asks, and asks, and Jack does his best to answer, offering snippets of information for Lee to piece together and match against his mental map of the area until he has a fairly firm suspicion of where Jack is hiding from whoever it is that's got him so scared.

It is not, however, a place to which Lee had ever wanted to return - had sworn to himself, in fact, that he wouldn't - and yet life has unexpectedly led him back here and he has no choice but to stare fear in the eye and hope for the best.

"Riverside Drive," he instructs Richard tonelessly, covering the lower end of his phone with his other hand, "corner of 86th." 

Richard nods as a sign that he's understood, sliding into the adjacent lane and making the turn (gently, as he has all the others, and glancing at Lee in an unsubtle attempt to gauge his mental state). "You okay, love?" 

"No," Lee says truthfully, because he hasn't been since he first heard Jack's frightened voice and they left the safety of their apartment, "but once I know he's out of harm's way, I will be." 

At 3.30 AM, the drive from Chelsea to the junction Lee indicated takes less than twenty minutes, but with each of those minutes feeling like an hour, Lee is on tenterhooks the entire time, his knee bouncing uncontrollably and his heart thudding almost painfully against his ribs, pumping pure adrenaline through his veins. (Watching Richard's hands on the wheel, confident and steady, helps a little bit, but not as much as he would have liked.) His anxiety increases tenfold once they are cruising along Riverside Drive, with the trees of the park and, further beyond, the inky blackness of the Hudson visible to their left. Here Richard slows the car almost to a crawl, looking for a place to park and awaiting instruction while Lee scans the low wall that forms the boundary between city and park, looking for the gaps that indicate the staircases connecting the sidewalk to the park a level lower. This is not a stretch with which he is at all unfamiliar (even if he has avoided it for well over a decade, he is sure that the layout of the park with its paths and monuments is still imprinted onto his brain) - and, if his memory serves him right -

"Here," he says suddenly, swivelling around in his seat and pointing (grateful that the car is moving so slowly that Richard's sudden press on the brakes is not the lurch it would have been otherwise), "I think it's here."

"Okay, hold on," Richard announces, checking his mirrors and turning the blinker on - even though they haven't passed a single car for at least ten minutes and the road is completely deserted - before (calmly) swerving onto the sidewalk and putting the car in park.  
  
"Uh, Rich, I don't think you're allowed to park here," Lee points out softly, only to get a shrug and a sheepish look in response.   
  
"I don't see an available parking spot around here, you?" He switches the engine off. "I'll pay the ticket."   
  
In the silence that suddenly descends within the car, Lee takes a deep and steeling breath to try and get his frazzled nerves somewhat under control. "Thank you for not telling me I'm crazy for doing this. I just hope I didn't gamble wrong and bring us to the wrong place."   
  
"You aren't and you didn't, Lee. From the way you were talking to Jack it's clear that you know these haunts like the back of your hand, even more than a decade down the line. Jack chose the right person to call. I know you had doubts after talking to him, that day of the interview, but the fact that he kept your number proves you did touch a chord after all. He just needed some time to decide he could trust you."   
  
Lee nods slowly, turning his head to stare out the window. All of a sudden he's worried - worried that once this crisis has passed and he is recovered from the fright, Jack will merrily continue using like nothing has happened. If that ends up being the case, Lee knows he will have to take some distance, for his own sake as well as Jack's. He wants to help him, desperately so, but first and foremost Jack must be willing to help himself. Lee has no intention of taking on the role of enabler, at Jack's beck and call and prepared to drop everything and swoop in whenever he's in a tight spot. The only way forward for Jack is treatment, school and a healthy dose of grief counseling. At only seventeen, it is not too late for him to get back on track to graduating school, getting a college degree and building the future he wants.

But first they have to find him. And that task will be hard enough in and of itself.

"I have to warn you, Richard," he says earnestly. "Even if Jack is where I think he is and we get him out safely, I don't know what we're going to see down there and I can't tell you how bad it's going to be, but it for sure won't be pretty. Like you said, this is a side of New York that you don't know and I understand if you'd rather not come face to face with it. I feel bad enough dragging you all the way out here in the middle of the night, and I would never expect you to put yourself-"   
  
"Lee," Richard calmly cuts off his rambling monologue, "I'm going to interrupt you there, love. Truly, I appreciate the warnings and disclaimers but I hope you're not trying to get me to wait in the car because that is not what's going to happen. Like it or not, I'm coming with you." 

  
"Yeah, I had a feeling you would," Lee concedes with a smile, and just like he had in the elevator earlier, he reaches out to take Richard's hand. Later, when all this is over, he will make sure to tell him just how much his support means to him, in general but especially tonight. For now, though, this simple gesture will have to suffice.

When he puts the phone to his ear to let Jack know they've arrived, however, he makes a horrifying discovery - the connection has been broken. Worryingly, there is no way to tell if Jack's battery simply ran out or if something more sinister happened, and when Lee immediately tries to call back, he is told that the dialed number can't be reached. It doesn't confirm anything - so he reminds himself - but fear grips his heart all the same. "Rich, this isn't good, I can't get a hold of him. I told him specifically to stay on the line."

Richard doesn't waste a second. "Right, let's do this," he says, unbuckling his seat belt with one hand while reaching for the door handle with the other. "I've got the flashlight, leave everything else in the car. Keep trying that number in the meantime."   
  
It is only once they get out of the car and cross the sidewalk at a trot that they discover that the staircase Lee pointed out earlier - one that's been overgrown with weeds and in disrepair since even before he roamed these parts - has been barred by a fence, the words KEEP OUT - DANGER in bold capitals discouraging any curious passersby from exploring what lies beyond. Granted, it is a measure that should have been taken years ago, as the dilapidated stairs lead down into a part of the park that's been left to its own devices a bit - it is not connected to any of the main paths and even back in the heyday of Lee's addiction, the niche under these stairs was a popular hangout and shelter for junks and other social outcasts - but it is incredibly disheartening to find this unexpected obstacle in their way when they are as close to achieving their aim as Lee hopes they are, even more so because he is having no luck getting Jack back on the line.   
  
"Is there another way down?" Richard asks as he switches on the flashlight and points it at the stairs, peering through the mesh of the fence to survey the terrain as best he can. The beam of the flashlight reaches only the top few steps - the lower steps are hidden from view by the darkness and the still-thick summer foliage, barely stirred by a breeze in this sultry night.   
  
"There are a number of staircases like this along Riverside Drive," Lee replies, shifting his weight anxiously from one foot to the other, "but the closest one is maybe two or three blocks from here, and every minute we lose is one too many. If I'm right, he's right down there under these stairs, sick and scared as fuck. Or whoever's after him found him and- damn it, why won't this fucking call go through?" His voice cracks unexpectedly, fear and self-doubt tasting bitter in his mouth as the madness of this rescue mission suddenly crashes down on him. Was he right to jump up and rush over here without so much as a heads-up to Jack's suffering parents? Did he make a capital mistake by taking matters into his own hands instead of calling the police like any sane person would? For god's sake, he barely feels like he has his own life on the rails, how on earth can he think to assume responsibility for someone else's? If he made the wrong call and something were to happen to Jack because of his decisions-  
  
"Lee - hey. Lee. Stop that, now.” Richard’s voice is gentle yet surprisingly firm - the firmest it's been since Lee woke him up - and he is worriedly surveying Lee's face, reading the panicked expressions flickering over it like the pages of an open book. “I know it's scary and you never expected to be back here, but you can do this. We can do this. We can get over this fence easily enough, we've got the flashlight and our phones for security, and we’ll be careful on the way down and Jack will be right there at the bottom of these steps, okay? I promise. He’ll be scared, of course, but he’ll be fine. I’m sure his battery has just died. It’s nothing to worry about, baby. And once we find him, we'll take him to hospital and he'll be safe there. He’s going to be just fine, you'll see.”

It occurs to Lee that this is the soothing kind of tone Richard might pull out when trying to comfort a small child - but it is like a welcome, warm bath to Lee's frayed nerves, because god, he has never felt more like a child in need of comfort than he does in that moment. He is quite literally standing on the threshold between his old world and the new: a normal Manhattan street that will be bustling with morning traffic in a few short hours' time and the shadow world down below, one he clawed his way out of years ago and vowed never to be a part of again. He is not looking forward to venturing down there and facing the demons that still know his name, however brief a reunion it will be. In fact, one side of him desperately wants to wrap his arms around Richard's waist, burrow into him and abandon this whole reckless, ill-conceived plan right here and now in favor of going home, where everything is comfortable and safe and nothing reminds him of this place. The other side, of course - the rational, practical one - knows that the only way they are leaving this park is with Jack, and that the first step to doing so is getting over that damn fence. He looks at it in resignation, assessing its height and sturdiness.  
  
Richard senses the shift. “That’s it,” he coaxes, eyes still fixed on Lee, “let's get this done, love, one step at a time. Be careful going over, okay? Don't injure your back. Here, I'll give you a boost." He links his fingers together, offering his joined hands like a stirrup, and Lee just acts, not pausing to think about what he's doing but putting his foot into the bowl of Richard's hands and reaching for the top of the fence as he feels Richard lift him up with surprising strength. Despite being in between jobs and otherwise lazy as fuck, he's faithfully kept to his fitness and cardio regime, which, Lee decides even as he finds his balance and swings his leg over, just goes to show that vanity has its uses.  
  
He experiences a moment of triumphant relief when he lands safely on his two feet on the other side of the fence, but that feeling is short-lived, vanishing at his first glance into that black, gaping hole at his feet without the barrier of the fence between it and himself.

He feels like he’s staring straight down into hell.

Struggling not to panic, and suddenly profoundly feeling the lack of Richard by his side, he turns back to the fence and weaves his fingers through the mesh. "Rich-"

"Be there in a jiffy, love, hang on." Richard stows the flashlight in the inside pocket of his jacket and takes a few steps back as he measures the height of the fence. "It's been a while since I hoisted this old body over anything this high."

Despite everything, the words elicit a smile from Lee, who only barely refrains from responding to the age comment and steps out of the way just as Richard takes the fence at a run and - his caveat not withstanding - vaults over it with ease, demonstrating remarkable agility for a self-proclaimed old man.

"Right, there we are," he says as he straightens up next to Lee and brushes off his jacket almost comically nonchalantly, and under different circumstances Lee might have snickered at how very stereotypically English Richard can be under pressure.  
  
“This isn't right, you know,” he says quietly, the weight of guilt growing heavier on his shoulders. "This is breaking the law, and I shouldn't be dragging you into it."

"I'm a big boy, Lee, and I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be." Richard glances back at the fence he's just hurdled before turning back to Lee with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Besides, I've secretly wanted to be an action hero ever since I saw _The Spy Who Loved Me_ when I was seven, so more than anything this is a lifelong dream come true."

Lee smiles faintly. "That's nice, Rich, but let's be serious here for a sec. You have a career to think about. If Philippa finds out-"

"The only way Philippa would find out is if one of us would be stupid enough to tell her."

"Or if we'd get caught and arrested for trespassing," Lee drily points out. "If that juicy tidbit happens to hit the tabloids, you can kiss the Tony dream goodbye."  
  
“Fuck the Tonys," Richard says, inappropriately upbeat, but then his demeanor sobers. "Seriously, Lee, it's just a fence, not the vault of the Bank of America. And like I said, there’s no way you’re going down there alone. This is non-negotiable.”  
  
Lee sighs, grappling for another way to talk Richard out of this - although it is admittedly a little late for that - but the unflinching determination he sees in Richard's eyes (even in the dim light of a distant streetlamp) tells him that he isn't going to win this one. And to be quite frank, he doesn't want to. Without further argument, he turns back towards the stairs in resignation, exhaling slowly. "Give me some light?" he asks, and Richard points the flashlight down to show the way ahead.

“The railing is busted,” Lee mutters, “so you’re just going to have to hold onto me, okay?”  
  
Although Richard doesn't say a word, Lee can feel him bite back a gently teasing retort (something about how Lee is only looking for an excuse to hold his hand, no doubt), knowing that this is neither the time nor the place for jokes or playfulness. Instead, Richard's free hand slides into his, just a slight pressure of his fingers, warm and familiar, and it is the anchor he needs to take that first scary, treacherous step, and another, and then another, his heart thudding in his throat the whole time. It would really help if he could see the bottom of these stairs, but the flashlight isn't powerful enough and the only lamppost in the immediate vicinity is broken (or, more accurately, vandalized), and most likely has been for a while. Lee isn't surprised - back in his day, the city never seemed to invest much money in maintenance here either.

Jack had also said that it was pitch dark where he was at. The thought sparks an ember of hope in Lee's chest, and he squeezes Richard's hand involuntarily, not daring to believe.  
  
“Doing okay?” Richard prompts, with a little squeeze back, and Lee shakes his head. “Feel like I’m gonna throw up.”  
  
He never spent a lot of time down here - he rarely slept in the same place more than several nights in a row, preferring to stay on the move so as to avoid drawing unwanted attention to himself - but it was enough for the details to be imprinted on his brain permanently (albeit through the fog of a painkiller high), and it is as if the last fifteen years have melted away in an instant, the weight and warmth of Richard's hand the only thing grounding him in the present. If not for that comforting grip, he might just have done a 180, leapt over that fence and tried to outrun the memories before they brought him down like a pack of wolves their prey.

To this very day, what he remembers most vividly of all are the smells. Being homeless, he rarely had a choice but to curl up and try to sleep in a place that reeked of wet dirt and mould in the best of cases, but human urine and feces were the norm. The most sickening part of it was that his own clothes and even skin seemed to absorb those smells over time, although it happened so gradually that it took him a while to work out why people physically recoiled from him in the streets. It only sank in when he remembered sitting next to a homeless person on a crowded subway once and barely managing to suppress his gag reflex because the stench was so overwhelming. Realizing that there must be a similar odor emanating from his pores without him even knowing it, he'd gone to one of the cleaner subway stations he knew and slipped into the handicapped bathroom stall, where he proceeded to strip completely naked and scour himself from head to toe using soap from the dispenser, scrubbing his grimy nails and cuticles vigorously until they bled and using paper towels to dry himself off. It made him feel marginally less disgusting, but that relief only lasted a few hours - if that - and after just one night of sleeping outside, the grime and smell were back as if they'd never been gone to begin with. The utter humiliation, the feeling of being less than human that being homeless instilled in him is something he will never ever forget.

(But on the other hand, he also has an abiding memory of Ian taking him to his gym for a shower before he checked into rehab, handing him a big fluffy towel and some shampoo before ushering him into the stall and assuring him that he could take as long as he needed. It was the first real, hot shower he got to take since walking out of Eric's house the year before, and he wouldn't have been surprised if someone told him he spent an hour or longer in that stall, using obscene amounts of shampoo and soap and almost moaning with pleasure as the strong jets of hot water pounded his shoulders and back, washing away the layers upon layers of dirt and filth until he was rosy and pink like the day he was born and felt just as brand new. The simple pleasure of a shower, of feeling clean, is something he'll never take for granted again after that.)  
  
What Ian did for him that day - and many days since - he wants to do for Jack. By all rights, that thought should have propelled him forward, but instead he freezes again. “But what if he’s not there, Rich? What if I’ve got it all wrong, mixed this up with someplace else?” He stops in his tracks and makes a half turn to look at Richard in a panic. God, but he feels useless at this. What was he thinking? What kind of difference can he possibly hope to make for Jack if he needs Richard to hold his hand and reassure him every few steps along the way? "Or what if he got scared after we lost contact and ran?"

"Then we'll figure out a plan B, but only if and when we have to." Richard gives him an encouraging smile, his fingers grasping Lee's a bit more tightly. "I know it's scary, Lee, but I promise you can do this. And I'll be here right by your side the entire time. Just keep taking it step by step."

Against so much positive reinforcement the voices of doubt once again prove powerless, and Lee turns back around in resignation and continues his way down, every step that takes him further away from the street and the safety of the car feeling like a personal victory of will over fear. He can only see the next couple of steps at any given time, but it is enough and once he is past the halfway point he even starts picking up the pace a little bit as the hope that Jack might actually be hiding under these stairs starts to override the fear of what else he might find or see down there. And always Richard is just one step behind him, exactly one step and no more, some of the unwavering faith he inexplicably has in Lee passing from his fingers into Lee's and encouraging him to keep going.

It is quite a long way down, made to seem even longer because every fiber in his body screams to be going back rather than forward, but eventually they reach the bottom, setting foot in exactly the weedy, neglected wilderness Lee remembers. Strangely, now that he is standing in the middle of it, it actually doesn't affect him as deeply as he expected it to. He startles briefly when he hears something scurrying away in the tall grasses, but realizes the next moment that it must be a small animal, most likely a rat. The litter and food waste left behind by park visitors make this a prime breeding ground for rats and other pests.

As he gazes around taking in the site, however, Lee gets the impression that rats may just be the only creatures to have set foot here in a while. Even the junks seem to have abandoned this place and moved on to greener pastures in recent years. As he turns around, he gets a strong suspicion as to why that is - the space underneath the stairs, where many a vagrant must have bedded down for a night, has been made inaccessible with wire fencing since the last time he was here. It doesn't look like the sturdiest of structures, but it seems to have done its intended job of keeping out undesirables, and Lee's heart plummets in his chest as he realizes what this means.  
  
He was wrong. Jack is not here. They have lost valuable time, and with Jack now off-grid for god knows what reason it will be nigh on impossible to find him. Disappointment and guilt squeeze his throat shut like a vise, sudden tears pricking in his eyes.  
  
"My god," Richard breathes as he steps into the space next to Lee and slowly lets the beam of the flashlight trail across the wire fence. He seems genuinely unsettled to find a dreary scene like this in one of New York's family-friendly parks. "I've been driving up and down this street for years and I never knew- I never even suspected that this place was here."   
  
"It wasn't like this in my day," Lee says tonelessly, temporarily frozen in utter defeat. "The fence is new." He doesn't have the heart to spell out to Richard what this means - he's going to figure it out in a moment anyway - but as the light beam passes over the fence again, something catches his attention.   
  
The mesh doesn't appear to be properly attached in the lower right corner. In fact, it looks suspiciously loose, like it's been curled back to create a hole large enough for a skinny person to crawl through and then more or less pushed back into its original place to make it look undisturbed. In the dark, a less attentive observer would never notice.

Lee reacts instinctually. "Rich, need light here," he urges as he drops to his knees and starts pulling at the mesh. Thankfully, the bolts holding it down are even more corroded with rust than expected, so it comes loose quite easily, and as he is pulling Lee spares only the most fleeting of moments to consider the fact that they've now gone from simple trespassing to vandalizing city property. Not that that realization slows him down at all, quite the contrary, nor does it stop Richard from joining in and helping Lee dismantle the makeshift barricade. Little force is required to peel back almost the entire right side of the fence.

"Jack," Lee calls softly, hoping that the noise and the light haven't startled him. "Are you there?"

There is no response, but this time Lee isn't discouraged so easily. If it was his twenty year old self hiding in there, he wouldn't give himself away so quickly either. "Jack, if you're in there, don't be scared. It's Lee. We were talking on the phone earlier. I've got Richard with me. We're here to help."

He keeps talking like this, a continuous stream of reassurances, in the hope that if Jack is in there - if he's _conscious_ , god willing - he will recognize his voice. He stops Richard, who is helpfully trying to get closer with the flashlight, from doing so, relying on his eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they do, he starts to discern what looks suspiciously like the shape of a hunched, hooded figure cowering in the far corner, knees drawn up and head down. There is no movement, no visible or audible response, and Lee throws all caution to the wind - even ignoring Richard breathing his name urgently - as he slips inside without further thought and kneels down in front of the figure. He desperately wants it to be Jack, but he can't see a face and the clothes are so dark and nondescript that it's hard to even tell whether he's dealing with a male or a female. The slim physique does seem to be that of a young person, however, and when he looks even more closely, Lee notices that the fingers of the right hand are curled tightly around what appears to be a mobile phone.

"Jack," he whispers, and miraculously, the person stirs and lifts their head. Suddenly Lee finds a bleary, slightly unfocused gaze fixed on him, the pale face in front of him sunken but unmistakably familiar. Relief floods his veins. "Hi, Jack. Remember me? Good to see you, buddy. You made yourself pretty damn hard to find down here."

"Hi," Jack croaks with a thick tongue. Thankfully, waking up from his stupor to find someone crowding his space doesn't seem to startle him as much as Lee had feared. Behind him, Richard has taken a few steps inside but is keeping a respectful distance, and although he makes sure not to point the flashlight directly at Jack, Lee can see even in the semi-dark that underneath those droopy lids his pupils are like needle points. Whatever drugs are in his system clearly haven't worn off yet. "Lee. You're Lee. You came."   
  
"That's right, I did, and Richard's here too. You're safe now, okay? I promise. You wanna come with us? Get out of here?"

Jack nods, head lolling slightly uncoordinatedly. "Mom, I want my mom," he whimpers plaintively, "and Kieran."   
  
As much as the childlike plea cuts through Lee's soul, he keeps his tone soft and soothing. "I know, bud. How about we get you out of here first, and if you want, we'll call your parents from the hospital, okay? Sound good?"

Another trepid nod, but when Lee starts to get up, Jack makes a soft little whining sound in the back of his throat. It's possible that he doesn't even realize he's doing it, but Lee pauses anyway, noticing the sudden panic in his eyes and the way he flexes the fingers of his free hand - the one that isn't clutching the phone like it's a life raft - before curling it back into a fist, almost as if he instinctually wants to reach for Lee but can't quite bring himself to do so.   
  
"Do you think you can stand up for me?" Lee tries gently, having his suspicions validated when Jack jerks his head in an approximation of a shake. "That's okay," he encourages, "we'll do it together. Just grab my hands and we'll get you on your feet."

From the moment he'd known they'd found their runaway - he hadn't been wrong, thank god, not wrong after all - Lee had been so focused on Jack that he'd completely stopped being aware of his surroundings. As he pulls Jack up from the floor, he doesn't register the smell of ammonia Jack had spoken off on the phone, or notice the old needles and even the odd condom left on the ground (who the hell could get it up in a depressing place like this, anyway?). It is Richard who quietly notices all of these things, slowly turning this way and that and taking in the abundance of old spider webs and obscene graffiti decorating the walls. But he makes no comment, letting Lee focus on the next task, which is to get Jack mobile enough to make the journey up the stairs.

It is only when Jack gets to his feet and takes a first, limping step that Lee notices there's a big gash in his jeans, about five inches above the knee, and he sees what appears to be fresh blood staining the edges of the tear. "Are you hurt?"

Jack shrugs, his reply coming out as a grunt. His face is deathly pale and dewy with perspiration, increasing Lee's concern. "Prob'ly cut myself when I jumped that fence earlier. No big deal."

"Maybe not, but you should have that looked at all the same. It may need stitches. Just lean on me if you need to, okay?"

He offers his arm, expecting Jack to decline or even ignore it - he is, after all, still a teenage boy - but is surprised when Jack hooks a grateful arm around his neck instead. Even more surprisingly, Lee finds that whereas normally he would flinch when someone barely familiar invaded his personal space like that, he doesn't mind it this time. Quite the contrary, he is touched by the trust the gesture expresses, by how willingly that trust is given, and returns it by putting a supporting hand on the small of Jack's back. "I've got you, buddy. Don't rush it, okay? We'll have you out of here in no time."

They've only taken a few tentative steps when Lee hears Richard say his name softly, almost inaudibly even, but there is something in his tone that makes Lee stop in his tracks and turn around only to find Richard looking at him with a peculiar expression on his face and the beam of the flashlight pointed at the graffiti-covered wall.

More accurately, at one particular image on said wall that must have caught Richard's attention for obvious reasons: amid the many phalluses and profanities is a lone depiction of a bird, a falcon in full flight, its tail feathers fanned out and its magnificent wings spread in full span. The sight gives Lee's heart a little zap of remembrance. Of course, he had known that by venturing down here he would have a close encounter with the past - it was the reason he'd dawdled so long at the top of the steps - but he hadn't realized that the past would smack him in the face like this. When he looks back to Richard - draggingly, delaying the moment because he knows what's coming - he is met by a gaze that is both questioning and knowing at once, and expresses such raw sorrow that Lee can't bear it. He can't crumple, not right now, not when he has to be decisive and clear-headed and strong.

So he tries to joke it off.

"Not my best work, I know," he says with a one-shouldered shrug and too-cheerful smile. "That was fifteen years ago, mind, and I didn't have the best light and materials down here either. Plus I was, you know, either high out of my mind or sick from withdrawal when I made that, and neither of those mindsets are particularly conducive to creativity."

It is an attempt at humor - admittedly, a poor one - and Richard doesn't smile. Then again, Lee didn't really expect him to.

"You spent the night in this place?" Lee can tell Richard tries his best to be matter-of-fact about it, but there is a turbulent roiling of emotions just below the surface that he can't conceal. "More than once?"

"I thought I told you. Didn't I tell you?" Lee sighs, guilt gnawing at him as he tries to recall the details of their conversation at the top of the stairs, when it would have been opportune to mention this. But things have been so frenzied since his phone rang that he couldn't possibly reconstruct everything he's done or said this past hour even if his life depended on it. "Only a couple of nights, Rich. I never stuck around in the same place for long. I must have made dozens if not hundreds of these to while away the time. Most of them will have been painted over by now, I reckon. I'm surprised this one is still here and in fairly good shape, at that."

Richard just looks at him dolefully, offering no words because none are needed - his eyes express it all, the sadness and the heartbreak at finding this unexpected relic from a bygone era that Lee nonetheless remembers so well (has it really been fifteen years? Christ, where has the time gone?), unequivocal proof that Lee took refuge here when he was only marginally older than the lanky adolescent at his side, simply because he didn't have anywhere else to go.

"Can we please just go?" Jack begs, oblivious to the significance of that old picture on the wall and the emotional undercurrent of Lee and Richard's wordless exchange. His tone is fearful, his whole demeanor that of a scared, much younger child. "I wanna get out of here."

He doesn’t let go of Lee as they make their way out of his little hiding spot, and while the angle is awkward (he’s a kid, after all, and Lee has more than half a foot on him) and the pressure on the back of Lee’s neck is more than a little unsettling, he doesn’t try to shake him off, letting him hold on however he needs to.

Getting back up the stairs is considerably easier than going down had been - Lee, too, is anxious to return to higher ground, where the air feels fresher and they will all be able to breathe a little more easily - although Jack runs out of steam about halfway, letting go of Lee and reaching out for the wobbly railing in an attempt to steady himself.  
  
“Doing okay?” Lee checks, and Jack shakes his head, cringing up at him. “Feel like I’m gonna throw up. Just - give me a minute.”  
  
Lee glances up towards the top of the stairs longingly - really, it is ironic how close to escape Jack had been when he must have decided to crawl away and hide instead of run - but gives Jack some time to get his stomach to settle. When a minute has been and gone, though, and Jack still doesn't appear to be inclined to move (they are getting closer to the light now, and the sickly pallor of his skin and the sweat beading on his forehead have become more obvious with every step, only making Lee more determined to get him to a hospital as soon as they possibly can), Lee decides that now is not the time for a dignified approach.  
  
"I'm sorry, Jack, but we have to keep moving." He goes down a couple of steps and makes a half turn to present his back. "Put your arms around my neck and hop on, I'll carry you the rest of the way."  
  
"Lee," Richard pipes up quietly, the first thing he's said in a while, "wouldn't it be better if I did that?"  
  
Lee takes a long look at Jack, who still appears dangerously close to emptying his stomach over the railing and is entirely too preoccupied by that to take part in the decision making process. "I really think I should, Rich." He offers him his best reassuring smile. "It's okay, babe. Really. The doctors didn't put a steel plate in my spine for nothing. I can do this."  
  
He confidently holds his gaze until Richard nods in concession. "Okay, Lee, if you're sure. Just don't injure yourself. We still have a fence to go over."  
  
Without further ado, Lee hoists Jack on his back - the kid is skin and bones and weighs startlingly little - and instructs him to hold on, waiting until he feels those thin arms lock around his neck before he takes a first careful step.  
  
Progress is faster from then on, Lee having little trouble hauling Jack up the stairs the rest of the way while Richard follows close behind. However, by the time they reach the top of the stairs, Jack appears to be only half conscious and Lee has trouble getting him to stand on his own two feet after he puts him down. "Listen to me, Jack. We just need to get over this fence, all right? That's all. We're almost there. I'll go first, Richard will give you a boost and I'll help you get down safely on the other side. Do you think you can do that?"  
  
Jack responds by turning away, crouching down and vomiting noisily on the pavement, with heaving gasps that wrack his bony shoulders. Lee and Richard exchange a worried look, but after a minute it is Jack who scrambles to his feet shakily, coughing and spitting to get rid of the taste. "I think some of it got on your shoes, man," he mutters to Richard, "sorry."  
  
"That's quite all right," Richard reacts disproportionally cheerfully. "Better out than in."  
  
Lee bites back an inappropriate giggle - leave it to Richard to pull out his worst dad joke at a time like this - and refocuses his attention on the task ahead. With Richard's help, he tackles the fence more confidently this time, glancing up and down the street to make sure the coast is clear before giving Richard a sign. With joint forces, they manage to help Jack over the fence, but the effort seems to drain Jack of the last of his powers and he crumples into a miserable heap on the sidewalk, right at Lee's feet. And this time, it doesn't look as though he's going to get up on his own. Seeing no other alternative, Lee picks him up unceremoniously and takes him on his back again to carry him to the car - beyond grateful that Richard parked it so conveniently close by - while behind him, Richard hurdles the fence as well. A few short seconds later he catches up to them, hastily digging up his keys to unlock the car and open one of the hind doors. Together they wrestle a barely responsive Jack into the back seat, Lee letting out a deep sigh and feeling Richard's hand settle on his back protectively.  
  
"I'm okay," he says distractedly and somewhat untruthfully, answering the question Richard doesn't ask out loud. He doesn't take his eyes off Jack, deeply disturbed by how quickly his condition seems to be worsening, and just like that, doubt rears its ugly head again. "God, Richard, have we done the right thing here? Look at him, for Christ's sake. Shouldn't we just have called the cops, or an ambulance? Shouldn't we have called his parents straight away? He's only a kid after all."  
  
"The only reason he called you, the only reason we were able to track him down and get him out of there is because he trusts you," Richard calmly replies. "Calling the cops would have achieved the exact opposite of that. You know that. He's going to be okay, Lee. I promise. Haven't you also been sick like that or worse and lived to tell the tale?"  
  
Lee nods and bites his lip, telling himself that Richard is right. "Let's just hurry, please. I think I'll sit on the back seat with him if that's okay?"  
  
"Of course, Lee. Here." He hands Lee the bottle of water. "Get him to drink something. For all we know he's dehydrated." A slight brush of his fingers against Lee's. "And don't forget to take a sip yourself."

Normally, being confined to the back seat of a moving car would put Lee in a state of absolute terror - riding shotgun fractionally less so, because the front seat doesn't feel as claustrophobic and being able to see the road and the other traffic gives him at least some illusion of control - but this time he only feels relief as Richard starts the car and they pull away from that ominous place, although his attention immediately shifts fully onto Jack, who seems to be skirting dangerously close to the edge of delirium, resisting being strapped in with the seat belt and pushing Lee's hand holding the bottle away until Lee, for lack of a better idea, puts an arm around him and pulls him close. It is pure instinct on his part, but surprisingly, the contact seems to have a calming effect - Jack settles somewhat, his head lolling back and his unfocused eyes trailing over Lee's face confusedly, as if his sluggish mind is trying to figure out why this near stranger has shown up to help him.

The helplessness and trust in that gaze are hard to bear, not least because he still isn't accustomed to having people look at him like that, looking at him to fix things and offer security and guidance. Lee remembers all too well how skeptical he had been of Ian in the beginning (he was an eccentric older man, after all, and obviously as gay as the day was long), made cautious by his experiences with Eric. He sees none of that distrust or suspicion in Jack, which gives him hope for what may come after this crisis has passed. Maybe Jack, like him, will beat the odds. Unfortunately, Lee knows only too well that the claws of addiction are strong and that this night is only the beginning of the battle for him, but there is hope. There is always hope. That rule applied when it was him sleeping under bridges and it still applies today. 

"You're going to be okay," he promises, and hopes that the words sound as convincing to Jack as they did to him when Richard said them. Jack gives no response, but Lee thinks he sees a flicker of understanding in Jack's eyes, a twitch of the mouth that might just be a smile, and for now, that will have to do.


	38. Linnet

The drive takes less than ten minutes - this time, Lee definitely wouldn't have minded if Richard had floored it just a bit more, but if Richard is tempted to drive recklessly, he is successfully holding himself in check - and during that short time Lee has to work hard at keeping Jack conscious and engaged, talking to him incessantly to prevent him from succumbing to fatigue and the powerful pull of whatever is in his bloodstream. He still has one arm curled around Jack's shoulder, the bottle of water in his other hand as he doggedly encourages him to drink, eventually managing to dribble a few drops between his pale, cracked lips. It seems like Jack perks up a little at the refreshing taste of water, still cool from the fridge, and the next sip goes in much more easily. It isn't much, but it is a good sign and Lee will take it, however small. "Good boy, Jack. Careful, not too fast. Small sips... that's it." 

Once they arrive at the hospital (it is St Luke's, but Lee won't realize that until much later) and bring a groggy Jack into the ER, things move quickly. Jack is bumped to the front of the line upon sight, a nurse preceding them into one of the smaller exam rooms behind the reception area. She checks his vitals and draws up a chart, but getting Jack to verbally respond to any questions proves problematic, so she starts questioning Lee instead. He tells her everything he knows, as coherently and as exhaustively as he can, helped occasionally by Richard who backs up his story and supplies additional information where needed. 

"So a possible overdose," the nurse summarizes, making notes, "any idea what he took?" 

"No," Lee replies, staring at her clipboard and trying to make out the words she's scribbling down, "I only know what he told me, which is barely anything. He mentioned pills, that's all. But," he adds, unconsciously raising his voice a notch, "if it is an overdose, it is definitely not an intentional one, so you can scratch that right off your list. This was no suicide attempt." 

The nurse spares him a long glance. "Are you family?" 

"Friend of the family," Lee improvises, nodding in Richard's direction, "and he is my b- my partner." He makes the correction unconsciously - somehow the situation seems to ask for a weightier word than boyfriend. "Jack has been dealing with some stuff lately, but he's a good kid. He called me tonight and asked for help, so we jumped in our car and here we are." That Jack has been reported missing a week ago is something he doesn't feel the need to mention right at this point. 

"Last name?" 

"O'Gorman." As soon as it leaves his mouth, Lee realizes that he actually has no idea if Dean and Jack share the same last name. He glances at Richard, who shakes his head to indicate that he doesn't know either. "At least, it could be. I'm not entirely sure." He looks back to the nurse helplessly, wishing he could be of more use. "Will he be all right?" 

It must be the most frequently asked question between hospital walls worldwide, and he isn't surprised when he gets the standard response, kind but not as reassuring as he would like, not by a long shot. "He's in good hands, sir. Please take a seat in the waiting area while we run some tests and we'll let you know more as soon as we can." 

Not liking these instructions one bit, Lee takes a reluctant step back from the exam table, feeling Richard curl a comforting arm around his waist as he watches the nurse have her hands full with Jack, who seems barely aware of what's going on around him and is growing restless, jiggling one of his legs continuously and jerking his head left and right as if fighting off some terrifying dream (even though his eyes are wide open). When a doctor and another nurse come in, Lee worriedly watches as more strange, clinical hands touch Jack, biting his tongue to refrain from placing a comment. It can't be helped, he knows that, but once upon a time it was him on an exam table being poked and prodded like a slab of meat by doctors who talked about him like he wasn't in the room, and he physically cringes when the second nurse sticks a needle in Jack's arm without so much as a warning. When Jack yelps in distress and tries to push the nurse's hands away, Richard's arm tightens slightly around Lee's waist in wordless support. (And a good thing too, because Lee may just have impulsively lunged forward to stop her otherwise.) 

After that first jab of the needle Jack grows increasingly more agitated, to the point that the nurses have difficulty restraining him while trying to draw his blood. It is a difficult situation for everyone, and from his position by the door, Lee can see things slowly spinning out of control, Jack's thrashing growing more and more violent as he tries to get up and escape the strangers in scrubs and white coats crowding him. 

What makes it even harder to watch is that Lee knows exactly how he feels, how scared and confused he must be, but he grits his teeth and keeps his distance - at least the nurses are far too distracted to realize they haven't followed instructions and are still in the room - to let the professionals do what they must. 

That is, until Jack starts plaintively calling out for Kieran, sounding so fearful and lost that Lee has no choice but to react, slipping out of Richard's half embrace without thinking to retake his position at Jack's side. "Hey," he says softly, trying to get that darting, wide-eyed gaze to land on him and praying for a flicker of recognition. "Hey, Jack, it's okay. I'm here, buddy." 

The first nurse, the older of the two, gives him a curious look from across the table. "Are you Kieran?" 

He shakes his head, not taking his eyes off Jack, who doesn't seem to respond to the sight of him so much as to the sound of his voice. "Kieran is - was - his brother." 

"I want Kieran," Jack whimpers sorrowfully, and Lee looks up at Richard in despair, hoping for some wisdom, but it seems that even Richard has none to offer at the moment. In fact, he appears to have been struck temporarily mute by what's happening, paralyzed in his spot by the door and looking absolutely crestfallen as his eyes travel from Jack to Lee and back again. There is something almost apologetic in his gaze, as if he feels like he should have an answer for Lee, like he's had an answer to everything tonight so far. But he doesn't. Not to this. And by all rights, he shouldn't be expected to. 

When Jack starts thrashing again, accidentally hitting one of the nurses in the face as he calls for his brother, Lee makes a desperate call. 

"Easy, Jack. Kieran is on his way." However necessary the white lie, Lee despises himself for having to force the words out of his throat and prays that Jack will forgive him should he remember it later. "He'll be here soon. But you gotta calm down for me now, bud, okay? Let the doctors take care of you so you can go home." 

The words are effective - Jack grows quieter and turns his focus on Lee, like a baby bird imprinted on its mother, reaching for him and curling his fingers into the front of Lee's shirt. Lee covers that hand with his own and gives it a reassuring pat. "I'm right here, Jack. You're gonna be okay. This will be over soon, I promise." 

"There we go - that's much better," the doctor says, clearly pleased to have a more compliant patient to work on, and he curls his stethoscope around his neck and takes the chart from the nurse. "What I'm going to do is order a full drug test and a gastric lavage as a precaution. And while we're at it, let's administer some fluids and see if he perks up. Have the young man's parents been reached yet?" 

All eyes in the room expectantly turn to Lee, who shoves shaky fingers into his pocket and fishes out his cell phone, thrusting it out to Richard. "Dean's number is in my contact list. Please - would you -" He gestures helplessly at Jack, who is still clutching at his shirt as if for dear life. Richard simply nods and steps forward to take the phone, clearly relieved to have a purpose again. During this brief exchange, his fingers fleetingly brush Lee's in what feels like a deliberate gesture of reassurance, a private moment between them that goes unnoticed by everyone else, and it takes a massive effort on Lee's part not to grasp his hand just to keep him by his side so he won't have to go through his alone. But the opportunity passes unused, and then Richard is escorted out of the room by one of the nurses to make the call to Dean and fill out some preliminary paperwork at reception. 

Lee spends the next surreal hour and a half glued to Jack's bedside, on a chair the nurse has fetched for him, because he's apparently proven himself to be enough of an asset to be allowed to stay, even throughout the treatment process itself. The doctor’s decision to pump Jack's stomach as a precautionary measure doesn't surprise him in the slightest - given that they have no idea how toxic the cocktail he has taken might prove to be - and he does what he can to keep Jack awake and cooperative for the procedure, talking him through the steps before the doctor can even start, even if he can’t always tell if what he says is sinking in. What certainly helps, though, is that he can draw on his own experiences to prepare Jack for what is to come - he has, after all, undergone a gastric lavage twice himself, although he was only conscious for one of them and quite a few years have passed since then - and he catches the nurse sending him intrigued glances a few times, clearly puzzled by his expertise, almost as though she’s wondering if he has had medical training himself. The thought is almost laughable. Even so, he feels surprisingly in control, slowly growing more comfortable in his role of bedside support person for the young man he barely knows but feels such a strong kinship with. 

Actually watching the procedure be carried out, however, is another story entirely. 

It is nothing short of heartbreaking to see Jack’s face become streaked with tears as he chokes and gags hopelessly around the tube the doctor is feeding down his esophagus, either unable or unwilling to swallow as they are all encouraging him to. He keeps his eyes fixed on Lee - wide, scared, childlike - like this is all Lee’s fault and he doesn’t understand why it’s happening, why they are torturing him like this. Lee, meanwhile, has to fight down the bile rising in his own throat as the lavage itself begins (sure that the nurses wouldn’t so much as flinch if he threw up right then and there - they’ve probably seen it all a thousand times before - but knowing that he wouldn't exactly help Jack by doing so) and he is all but certain that as soon as this is over and he is alone the tears are going to come and that this scene is one that he is going to remember for a long, long time to come, down to the last, horrendous detail. 

For all his earlier wishes about having someone to call in the dead of night when he was in Jack's shoes, there is a part of him that is extremely glad that he cut himself off from everyone he knew, because he cannot bear to imagine how devastating and emotionally scarring it would have been for his parents to witness him going through this. It is for that reason that he is immensely grateful that Jack’s parents and Dean aren’t here yet, and that they won’t see him until whatever he has taken has been flushed from his system and can't harm him anymore. 

But he pulls himself together, trying to block out his own emotions about what's happening as he holds Jack’s hand and lets him squeeze hard enough to bruise and just keeps talking, slow and steady - and prays, against his own habit, that it will be over soon. 

Jack is resigned by the end of it - his limbs floppy and uncooperative, eyes red, and cheeks still stained from the now-dried tears. His eyes flicker faintly over Lee as he lavishes praise on him, telling him he’s got through the worst of it, that it’s all going to be okay, but mostly he just looks like he wants to fall asleep and never wake up, and Lee's heart aches for him. The cut on his leg is cleaned and closed with a simple stitch and then he is wheeled to a private room, where he will be kept for observation for the rest of the night, his hand still holding Lee's in an iron grip. By the time the nurse - the older one - comes to check on them again, however, he has managed to doze off, pale and gaunt but breathing calmly. 

Lee would be lying if he said that it isn't a relief. That he isn't tempted to sneak off, lock himself in a bathroom somewhere and have a good cry. All the same, he can't bring himself to actually get up and leave the kid, even if he is asleep.

"You have quite a way with him," the nurse comments as she checks the bag of fluids hooked up to Jack's arm. "He's lucky. We get a lot of kids like him coming in here who might as well be alone in the world. Who have alienated everyone." 

"I know," Lee replies, tiredly running a hand through his hair and glancing at the clock. Already past six in the morning - where the hell has the night gone? "I used to be one of them." 

She pauses, her gaze traveling, almost unconsciously, back towards the ER and the waiting room (where Richard is no doubt wearing holes in the carpet from his pacing) before returning to rest on Lee for a long, pensive moment. He can see her drawing her conclusions about him and feels a familiar niggle of anxiety prickling at the back of his neck, but he doesn't succumb to the temptation to look away or hide his prominently tattooed forearms. Inwardly he is bracing himself for any of the usual responses - a disparaging or pitying look, a shake of the head, a silence heavy with judgment - but instead of all that, she surprises him with a warm and seemingly genuine smile. "Looks like you came a long way since then. Good for you." 

She finishes what she is doing and throws a glance back at Lee before leaving. "Since he's asleep and everything's calmed down a bit, I think it would be okay if Mr. Armitage came in for a few minutes. We've been keeping him informed, but I'm sure he's anxious to see for himself. Would you like me to go and tell him?" 

"Thank you," Lee croaks gratefully, touched by the compliment as well as by her spontaneous offer, his eyes flicking between her kind face and her nametag, "uh, Sandra." 

It doesn't take very long for Richard to appear, bearing a paper cup of terrible hospital coffee for Lee (yet in spite of his preemptive apologies, in that moment it seems like the best that Lee has ever tasted, and he burns his tongue in his haste to get the caffeine into his bloodstream) and a cautious expression as he takes in the scene - the sunken-faced, sleeping teenager in the hospital bed and the man sitting next to it, who probably doesn't look a whole lot better. 

“How are you doing?” 

“He’s good - seems to have got through it all right. Thank god we got him here in time. Now let's hope that this experience will prove the push he needs to turn things around." 

“I've been getting updates about Jack from the nurses, Lee. What they haven't told me is how _you_ are holding up. Are you okay?” 

Richard’s hand is on his shoulder, a soothing presence, and he leans back into it gratefully. The adrenaline that's been coursing through his veins for the last few hours is starting to ebb at last, slowly being replaced by a sick sense of disbelief at what they've all been through. He feels mentally and physically exhausted. “Tired, to say the least, but I’ll be okay.” 

“You did an incredible thing, Lee. You saved his life. I hope you understand that, love.” 

Lee shakes his head. He knows that Richard means well, and there may even be some truth in what he is saying, but it is premature to congratulate themselves when Jack is only just starting his journey. “You wanna know something?” he muses out loud, his fingers playing idly with the empty coffee cup. “I've been sitting here watching him for a little while, and all I've been able to think about is how lucky and grateful I am to be alive.” 

It is something he made his peace with a long time ago: the knowledge that if Ian hadn’t crossed his path that day and decided that Lee's art was worth a better look, he would almost certainly be dead a long time by now. He'd been headed that way for sure, and it was only with the benefit of hindsight that he came to understand how precariously he'd been skirting the line, at such a painfully young age - and Jack is even younger than that, barely a whisper of stubble on his chin, the lankiness of his arms and legs less a sign of malnourishment than of a kid who is still growing into his body. His young age can be turned to his advantage, however, and Lee fervently hopes that Jack will get - and accept - the care and resources he desperately needs to beat this. 

"Don't underplay the hard work you did to get here, Lee," Richard says. "Your recovery wasn't just some random stroke of luck alone." He smiles when Lee unthinkingly brings the coffee cup to his mouth and mutters a curse when he remembers it is already empty. "There is more where that sludge came from, don't worry." 

Lee snickers tiredly despite himself and leans his head against Richard's side for a moment, wishing he could do like Jack, close his eyes and sleep. "Have you talked to Dean?" 

"Oh yeah, I did. Took me a while, though. The guy must be a solid sleeper, but I finally got him on the line about half an hour ago. Out of his mind with joy. He's going to pick up Jack's parents and get them here as soon as morning traffic allows." 

Lee sighs. "Good." Just like that, his eyes slip shut after all - he doesn't fight it - and they spend a few quiet minutes like this, Lee leaning into Richard who rubs his back and strokes his hair soothingly, a wondrous feeling, until Sandra pokes her head around the door to subtly let them know that Richard's time is up. She seems sorry to have to do it, and Lee straightens himself reluctantly while Richard leans down, his hand sliding down to rest comfortably on the small of Lee's back. "Are you sure you're good to stay? I can take over for a bit if you want to stretch your legs or get another shot of caffeine." 

"No, I'm good, I'll stay until his parents get here. He's had quite a night and I don't want to leave him alone. But you could go home and catch some sleep if you wanted?" Even as he makes the suggestion, he knows full well what Richard's response will be. 

"Nice try, love." Richard drops a soft kiss on his mouth, smiling affectionately as Lee tilts his face up and presses into it slightly. "I'll be right outside in the waiting room if you need me." 

Lee lets his eyes follow Richard out of the room and linger on the door as it quietly shuts behind him, only to discover when he turns back to Jack that he is awake, watching him from under half-closed lids, like he can’t quite muster the energy to open them properly. 

“Hey,” Lee says gently, tentatively, and he is rewarded when Jack opens his mouth and a scratchy little whisper comes out. 

“Hey.” 

"You want some water?" Lee takes the plastic cup that the nurse had brought earlier from the nightstand and offers the straw to Jack, who takes an obedient sip or two, discomfort flickering across his face. "Throat hurts." 

"They put a tube down your throat to pump your stomach," Lee explains. "It's gonna be sensitive for a little while, but you're gonna be okay. How do you feel?" 

"Definitely been better." Jack clears his throat with difficulty and licks his cracked lips. "Could be worse, though, I guess. Could be dead in a ditch somewhere." He eyes the cup of water, and Lee offers it to him for another sip. He doesn't contradict Jack's statement because there is no point in contradicting the truth, however harsh it is. When he's done drinking for the time being, Jack settles back into the pillow as if the simple activity has drained him of what little energy he had. 

Lee half expects him to doze off again - the short nap he's had hardly seems sufficient - but after a minute or two of staring up at the ceiling in contemplative silence, Jack speaks again. It comes out a rasp, timid and barely audible. "How did you know?" 

Lee raises a quizzical brow at this cryptic question. "How did I know what?" 

Jack's eyes flick to Lee and then quickly away again. "The other week. When you warned me not to get in the car with strangers and all that shit. How did you know?" 

Lee takes a breath. He remembers that part of their conversation very well - he also remembers being evasive at the time - and he wishes he could claim to be surprised Jack is bringing it up again. "I know because it happened to me, and I've seen it happen to others. But when I was in that situation, there wasn't anyone I could call. I didn't have any friends left by that point, and my parents - well, I couldn't even touch that thought with a ten foot pole. It was just too hard, too shameful." 

"Yeah. Tell me about it." Jack sighs. "Do they know yet? My parents?" A look of fearful resignation settles on his face when Lee nods. "What did they say?" 

"I haven't talked to them myself, Jack, so I can't tell you, I'm sorry. I didn't have their number, so I asked Richard to call Dean and get the ball rolling. They're on their way, the three of them." Jack is wearing such a concerned, unhappy expression hearing this that Lee adds, "They'll be hugely relieved, Jack. Since you disappeared, they've reported you missing and have been looking all over for you. All that matters to them right now is the fact that you're still alive, I guarantee it." 

He pauses, carefully considering Jack's face and trying to gauge how his words are received, because from the way Jack keeps avoiding his gaze he can tell that there is something weighing down on him - something beyond the guilt he obviously feels towards his parents. And the window of opportunity for them to talk in private is closing fast. "Jack, if there is anything you want to ask me or talk to me about, now or at any other time, I want you to know that you can. I've been where you are, and I believe I can help. If you want to beat this, turn things around, then I'm here to help you do that in any way I can." 

Glancing skittishly at the door and back to Lee, Jack seems to be weighing up whether he wants to take him up on his offer, torn between conflicting emotions Lee can see glimpses of warring across his face. But in the end he seems to come to the conclusion that whatever he went through tonight is not something he wants to cope with on his own. Being an addict, living on the streets, is in essence a lonely existence, and Jack seems desperate to break out of that isolation. And in Lee he may just recognize a kindred spirit. 

“There was this..." He cringes, bites his lip, looks away. "... Guy.”  
  
Something about the defeated way these words leave his mouth further solidifies the suspicions that have slowly taken shape in Lee's mind over the course of the night, fueled by the little hints Jack has dropped about a strange dealer who seemed rather too generous with his wares, who lured Jack to a public bathroom that would almost certainly be abandoned at that time of night, and he understands - not the fine details, but enough for Jack’s reticence (and the fact that he’d called Lee for help after initially being so insistent that he could fend for himself and didn't need anyone looking out for him) to make sense.  
  
“Do you want to tell me what happened with him?”  
  
The words stutter out to begin with, Jack fiddling anxiously with the sheet, bunching it between his fingers and then stretching it out again, rubbing his fingers over the creases he has just made - anything to avoid eye contact with Lee as he talks in fits and starts about what happened after he approached a dealer he'd never bought from before and agreed to go 'somewhere more private', as the man had conspiratorially called it. As luck would have it, there was a public bathroom nearby. In the dingy men's room, under the flickering light of a broken fluorescent lamp, the two had shared a tepid can of cheap beer from the dealer's backpack and shot the breeze for a little while, Jack smoking a joint of the man's pot until relaxation settled in. That was all he wanted, really, to relax and forget how majorly fucked up everything was since his dumb brother had gone and snorted his brains out one time too many. But while the pot was excellent, that didn't stop him from wishing he could afford something a little stronger - something that would help erase the blackness the weed didn't touch. "So, hey - didn't you say you had something else for me to try?" he semi-casually reminded his new friend, too intrigued to be cautious.

The man - who'd introduced himself as Marcus and couldn't be much younger than Jack's dad - grinned and reached into his pocket to produce a tiny bottle of mixed pills which he then proceeded to line up on top of the bathroom sink, encouraging Jack to sample a few. Jack can't remember if he explained what they were and what they did, or if Jack even cared to ask before recklessly gobbling down several. What he does remember is that Marcus was especially adamant that he try an oblong little green pill, stating that it was guaranteed to make any high infinitely more intense. Jack, who - rather naively - hadn’t stopped to question the dealer's apparent generosity even once, had stored the pill (along with a couple others) down the side of his cheek until he could spit them out when Marcus wasn’t looking, intending to save them until later - it never hurt to have the next fix ready to go, after all.  
  
(Miraculously, when he turns out the pockets of Jack's dirt-caked jeans Lee discovers that the offending green pill and a couple of others are still there, and it barely takes him a glance to identify it as Rohypnol, a powerful sedative that by itself would have knocked Jack out for sure and rendered him unable to escape or defend himself. By not taking it, Jack had unknowingly done himself an immense favor. Lee can barely contain his disgust as he takes a tissue from the tissue box on Jack's bedside table and carefully wraps the pills inside it with slightly shaking hands. "I'll make sure the doctor gets these," he says as calmly as he can, and Jack just nods, offering no protest. He doesn’t want to touch the pills - he doesn’t even want to look at them - because pills like these are everything his life once revolved around, the driving force behind every stupid mistake he made when he had the world at his feet and squandered it, and it seems so stupid now, so pointless and wasteful to have thrown it all away - his family, his education, his life almost - for _this_. This handful of tiny pills stands for all the regrets he's been nurturing for the past fifteen years, and god, how he hates them.)  
  
The pills Jack did ingest had kicked in mercifully quickly, causing a rush that was heady and pleasant, exactly what he'd needed to leave the shittiness of his daily existence behind. That was the reason why he'd taken to the streets - just to check out for a little while, to take a break from the scrutiny awaiting him at home, where everything and everyone reminded him of Kieran the whole livelong day. He just couldn't sit around and listen to his mom's crying anymore, or have his dad lecture him about school, as if anyone cared about school when Kieran was gone for good. Come to think of it, they would probably be better off without him to worry about. He just hoped that Trixie, their little tortoiseshell cat, was doing okay. She'd surely miss the hours spent curled up on his chest or on the pillow next to him, purring so loudly that he couldn't sleep because of it, the only family member who didn't treat him any different after that fateful day back in October. He pushed the memory away as soon as it arose. If he wanted to forget and savor this high, he sure as hell couldn't afford to get all weepy about the freaking cat.  
  
He leaned on the bathroom sink heavily, gripping the edge between numb fingers and enjoying the feeling of drowsiness that came over him, of his legs slowly turning to warm rubber, and the sense of disassociation that made him feel like nothing could touch him, the world around him blurring into the distance along with all his troubles. This was infinitely better than a common joint, no matter how good the pot.  
  
"Feeling good?" Marcus's self-satisfied grin stretched impossibly wide, distorting his face like it was made of rubber as well. "Yeah, my goods are top of the line. People don't come to Marcus or the candy aisle for second-rate stuff. They want the very best, and that's what they get from me."  
  
Jack didn't want Marcus to talk. He wanted to be alone, to retreat into his own little world and surrender to his high while it lasted, so he closed his eyes to do so and hoped that chatty Marcus would get the message. When he opened them again to ask for a sip of beer - his mouth was filling with thick saliva that he had difficulty swallowing, the only unpleasant side effect to an otherwise great high - and noticed that Marcus had put a hand between his legs and was languidly touching himself through his pants, it took his sluggish mind a while to form some thoughts about that.  
  
"Does it make you horny?" Marcus asked. "I always get horny on a nice cocktail like that, don't you?"  
  
Jack couldn't reply, too preoccupied by the maddening clot of saliva in his mouth and the increasingly disconcerting sight of Marcus rubbing the pronounced bulge in his pants, so he opted for shaking his head instead and closed his eyes again. If Marcus wanted to fondle himself a bit, or even jerk off to some twisted pedo fantasy, that was his business, but Jack wasn't planning on being an active participant or even watching the perversion unfold.

What he did not realize at the time - disconnected from reality as he was - was that he wouldn't be given a choice in the matter. His brain felt like a cluster of fluffy cotton balls, incapable of picking up the warning signals that were glaring him in the face.

"Shy, huh? That's okay." Marcus again. Guy just wouldn't shut his trap and leave Jack be. "What's your name?" 

Somewhat surprisingly, it was of all things this seemingly innocuous question that had put Jack's dulled senses on alert and made him cautious. It reminded him of Lee, who had mentioned using several street aliases in his interview with Dean, and with that thought zooming around in the back of his head like a tiny but persistent insect he had mentally grappled for a name for a second, blurting out the first one that sprang to mind. 

"Kieran." 

He regretted using the name - that one of all names he could have chosen - the second it left his mouth, but it was too late to take it back. 

"You're a pretty boy, Kieran." Marcus had unzipped his fly and was stroking himself slowly, hairy fingers on a thick, veiny cock. He was breathing heavily and put his phone on the sink to switch hands. "I'm not scaring you, am I? Have you ever touched another man? Surely I'm not the first to tell you how pretty you are." 

Jack finally managed to swallow and free up his mouth, wishing he had the mental faculties to string a coherent sentence together and tell this pervert where to stick it. Still, the whole situation annoyed him more than it scared him, because he was high out of his mind and with that came the dangerous illusion that he had the situation firmly in hand. 

It wasn't until he glanced over to the door and saw another man lurking there that it occurred to him that he might be very, very wrong about that. The man was of intimidating physical build and had a low forehead under a blond crew cut. He looked like he could be a bouncer at a nightclub. "Who's he?" Jack asked, alarmed by the appearance of this uninvited guest. 

"Just a buddy of mine," Marcus said lightly, like it was of little importance. "He's here for protection, to keep an eye out, you know. A guy like me needs to be careful." He reached for Jack's hand and pulled it to his cock, only to have Jack yank his hand back as if scalded. "Hey now, Kieran, don't be like that. Just a little something in return for my generosity, that's not unreasonable, is it? If I gave all my wares away for free I'd go bankrupt in a week. Now be a sweet boy and come here. A nice hand job will settle your debt to me, and that's a very good deal, all things considered." 

When Jack resisted - as well as he could given how impaired he was - and tried to recoil, looking instinctively for a way out (but there was only one, and it was blocked by a 300-pound bodybuilder on steroids), Marcus had shed his friendly facade impressively quickly. "Now listen here, Kieran, I like you, but this is starting to piss me off. Either you do as I tell you or you pay me those 200 dollars in cash right now." 

Needless to say, Jack did not have 200 dollars. He probably didn't even have two. But there was no way in hell that he would comply with this jerk's so-called deal. And then all of a sudden he'd found his ability to speak again. 

"Fuck you, asshole," he slurred. "If you're that desperate for someone to jerk your gherkin, why don't you ask your buddy the Hulk over there. And as for your stupid pills, you can have them back." And just like that, to show that he wasn't shitting around, he'd bent over the sink defiantly and stuck three fingers down his throat. 

That had been a grievous mistake. Because as he stood there gagging and retching, it was laughably easy for Marcus to grab him and pin him down with his head into the sink. Even through his jeans, Jack could feel the man's cock pressing up against his ass and shuddered in disgust and, for the first time, fear. 

"Enough of this," Marcus hissed into his ear. "I wanted to settle this on good terms, Kieran, but you had to go and make me angry. And when I'm angry, I'm not a very nice guy. So now I'm just gonna take what's owed. Who knows - you may even end up liking it. Wouldn't be the first time." He laughed unpleasantly, making Jack's stomach roil in revulsion. 

Now, hours after the fact and in the safety of a hospital bed, Jack has difficulty explaining to Lee where he found the strength to escape from that seemingly hopeless situation - from the clutches of two older men considerably stronger than him - and the clarity of mind to grab Marcus's phone before bolting. Maybe it had been the way Marcus kept addressing him by his brother's name, Jack feeling the rage coil tighter and tighter in his gut every time Marcus whispered it against the shell of his ear, the adrenaline pumping through his veins helping him think clearly. 

The second deciding factor may have been that Jack had been taking taekwondo lessons since he was six years old. 

Either way, he somehow managed to wrench free and knee Marcus in the balls hard enough to bruise - the resulting howl of pain sending a bolt of satisfaction through his body that gave him wings. His hand shot out instinctively, snatching up Marcus's phone as he made a dash for the exit only to find the Hulk blocking his way. He was broad and solid like a block of concrete, but - quite understandably - didn't seem too keen on blue balls, and Jack was faster. He lunged forward, resorting to one of his strongest techniques - the front snap kick - and forcefully planting his foot in the surprised man's solar plexus. It wasn't enough to take him out by a long shot, but the element of surprise alone gave him some time to bolt and so he did, leaving his two attackers gasping and doubling over in pain as he half sprinted, half stumbled across the playground, past the hippos, somehow hurdled the fence and ran, ran, ran until his lungs burned and his heart almost exploded and he saw no other option than to crawl away in a dark place and hide. There, under the stairs, he'd dug up the empty, flattened cigarette pack with Lee's number on it - he'd kept it, not knowing why, but god was he glad that he had - and dialed with shaking fingers while his heart hammered frantically against his ribcage, sent into overdrive by pure terror and the chemicals in his bloodstream. 

It isn't until he reaches the end of his remarkable story that Jack looks up to meet Lee's eyes for the first time since he began, and he offers him the phone he's held clutched between his fingers the entire time. "Can you, like, give this to the cops?" he mumbles. "It's probably untraceable but there might be some useful info in there." 

"You may be right, Jack, but don't you think you should be the one to give it to them?" Lee suggests carefully. "After all, you can give the police a description of those men, I can't." 

"No," Jack states adamantly, panic darting across his face. "Don't make me press charges. I don't want any more trouble, and I don't want my parents to know what- what Marcus tried to make me do. Promise me you won't tell them." 

"Of course I won't, Jack," Lee tells him earnestly, "but I hope you'll change your mind and tell them yourself so they can support you. It doesn't have to be today, or even tomorrow. Just - don't bottle it up, okay? Telling me is a good start, and I admire you very much for that, but you need professional help to put this behind you. There are lots of good therapists that can help you. Trust me - I know how hard it is, because I speak from experience, but the worst thing you can do is try to put it away and pretend it didn't happen." 

Seeing that Lee isn't going to take the phone, Jack curls his fingers around the device tightly and lowers his hand, quietly taking in Lee's words. "I'm scared." 

"I know. I was too. And it's okay to be scared - anyone in their right mind would be. But you're going to be fine, Jack. You'll have lots of help, lots of support. And just so you know, I'm really fucking impressed with how you handled this situation. You've got guts, and that tells me you can handle what's still to come, too. Recovery isn't easy, but it's worthwhile, I promise. I know it's hard to believe - I wouldn't have believed it either when I was where you are now - but trust me on this. There's a whole life waiting for you out there." He pauses, offering Jack a slight, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry, I know all this must sound incredibly maudlin to you - one sappy cliché after another. Not that I don't mean every word, but being a motivational speaker isn't exactly my trade." 

To his surprise, Jack cracks a smile as well - a fatigued one, but a smile nonetheless. "It's okay, man. You're better at this than you think. For whatever it's worth, I think Dean is right, you should be a spokesperson or a mentor or whatever. Kids like me don't want to be lectured by a dude in a suit behind a desk who pretends to care and drones on about how drugs are bad for you. As if we don't already know that." Jack worries his lip between his teeth and lowers his eyes again. "I wish my brother had met you before he died. Maybe you could have gotten through to him. Also because-" He jerks his head up, something fierce flickering in his eyes. "Promise not to tell this to anyone." 

"I promise, Jack. Whatever you choose to tell me stays between us." 

Jack runs anxious fingers through his oily, unkempt hair. "Mom and Dad don't know this, but - Kieran was gay. Or at least he liked dudes, and I think that scared him a lot. I'm the only one in the family who knows, and maybe a couple of his friends, I'm not sure. I told him it didn't matter, and that Mom and Dad wouldn't care, but he struggled with it a lot and felt really alone. I think he probably used drugs as an escape. So yeah, I wish you could have talked to him. I mean, you're gay, right?" Jack's eyes flit towards the waiting room. "And you seem to be okay with it?" 

Lee smiles a little sadly, wondering how much more heartbreaking this story can possibly get. "Yeah, I am - gay and okay with it. I don't know if I could have made a difference, kiddo, but I wish I could have tried." 

"I keep asking myself if I should tell Mom and Dad," Jack confesses, "about Kieran, I mean. I promised him I wouldn't - he would have killed me - but on the other hand, I want Mom and Dad to remember him for who he really was, you know? They keep talking about the hypothetical girl he could have married and the family he could have had, and it's just... it's not right." 

"That is a really serious and difficult decision to make, Jack," Lee tells him earnestly. "I understand where you're coming from, but I certainly wouldn't open that can of worms until further down the line, preferably in a family therapy setting. And if your therapists advise you not to share that information at all, then I hope you can find a way to live with that secret. Coming out is a delicate thing in any situation, and if Kieran wasn't ready to make that announcement when he was alive, then maybe you have to honor his wishes posthumously as you would have done if he had still been here. And keep in mind that your parents are grieving for Kieran, too. How they do that and how they want to remember him is ultimately not your decision to make." 

Barely has he finished talking or the door opens and Sandra reappears. "Mr. Pace? Jack's family just got here." 

"Give me half a minute to wrap things up here?" he asks. She disappears with a nod, and Lee is surprised to feel Jack's hand sliding into his own. 

"Can't you stay?" he begs, but Lee - although touched - shakes his head gently. 

"It's family, Jack, not my place to intrude." He gives Jack's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Everything will be okay, you'll see. You took the first step tonight, so just keep going forward, even if it's going at a snail's pace." 

"Forward." Jack sighs, clearly finding the idea of it intimidating. But from what Lee has seen and heard, the kid definitely has a good shot. 

"And you can always call me," Lee reiterates, and he smiles encouragingly to enforce the promise. "After all, you already have my number." 

"That's true." Jack seems to perk up a little. "Hey, you never know - I may just show up at your shop after I turn eighteen and get an awesome tattoo of my own. I mean, we're friends now, right? So you could probably give me a discount?" 

Lee stares at him in surprise, then starts laughing, for the first time in what feels like forever. It is an incredibly uplifting feeling, the knot in his stomach slowly dissolving. "I don't know about any discount, Jack," he snickers, making a mental note to tell Richard about this later. "But yeah, after what we went through tonight, I think it's safe to say we're friends, you and I." 

*** 

When he walks into the waiting area not long afterwards, Richard is there, talking to Dean and a flustered middle-aged couple with uncombed hair. Jack's mom, who appears fragile and thin and has red, puffy eyes, stares dazedly at Lee as Dean makes the introductions and stammers a few words of thanks. It is clear that her anxious mind is on one thing and one thing only, which is to burst into that room and see for herself how Jack is doing - if it really _is_ Jack and not a tragic case of mistaken identity. Her husband, a scruffy graying man who bears something of a resemblance to Dean, shakes Lee's hand firmly before Sandra returns and gently ushers them to Jack's room. Dean, however, surprises Lee with a spontaneous hug Lee has neither the time nor the energy to deflect. Dean knows about Lee's issues with touch - it came up during the interview - but in the joy of the moment he seems to have forgotten about it and Lee doesn't have it in him to protest. Because of their pronounced height difference, he has to stoop somewhat to allow Dean to reach him, patting his back somewhat awkwardly while reflecting on the irony of the situation. Who would have thought a couple of months ago that one day he and Dean would be on hugging terms? 

"Sorry if my aunt and uncle seem a bit standoffish," Dean offers. "They've been through hell and back this week, but they're immensely grateful for what you did." 

"It's okay," Lee mumbles as Dean steps back and beams up at him. "I just want Jack to come out of this okay. That's all that matters. He's going to need a lot of support, Dean. He's got a long road ahead of him." 

Dean nods, unflinching in his manifest appreciation for Lee's part in bringing the runaway home. "You know what this means, though, right? This is just the beginning, and Jack is only the first. Sharing your story has already changed one life before the article has even been published. I can't wait to see what it does once it hits the stands. I think you're going to have a real impact, Lee. Just you wait and see." 

Lee doesn't really know how to respond to Dean's superlatives, so he accepts them apathetically and lets Dean shake his hand with fervor before he too leaves to go see Jack. It is in that moment, as it dawns on him that his mission has been accomplished and that it's out of his hands now, that Lee feels just how tired he is, the strength draining from his legs along with the adrenaline that's kept him going until now and leaving him near collapse. 

"Thank god," he murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose with numb fingers, "thank god that's over." 

He feels so wrung dry physically and emotionally that he could cry, the tears he's been blinking back all this time threatening to spill, but then there is Richard and that familiar, strong arm curling around his waist. "Come on," he coaxes as he gently steers Lee away from the curious gazes of the other people in the waiting room. "Time for a break." 

They go outside, where it is remarkably light - when did it get light like that, and what time is it? - and Richard plants Lee in a patch of pale morning sun with another cup of coffee (this time a much stronger brew from a coffee cart across the street - god only knows where Richard found the time to go and fetch it) and a cigarette, which Lee lights with clumsy, trembling fingers. "Fuck, that was hard," he says shakily, taking a big gulp of coffee. "I don't know where I found the strength to do all that. I really don't." 

"You did well, babe." Richard states it like it's fact, which to him it probably is. "I'm so proud of you. So very, very proud." 

"They pumped his stomach." Lee shudders at the memory, although the early morning chill may have something to do with it too. Richard steps a little closer to offer the comfort and the warmth of his body. "It was awful. Just fucking awful, Rich." 

"Did they do that to you as well?" Richard asks cautiously. "Back then?" 

Lee nods robotically. "Both times," he croaks, offering no further explanation about the circumstances because none is needed. Richard knows - he knows everything and yet he is still here. The man practices the very definition of unconditional love, and it never ceases to amaze Lee. "I'm sorry," he stammers, going through the motions of smoking the cigarette - taking a drag, pausing, letting the smoke slowly escape from his lungs - without really tasting it, but it calms him all the same. "I'm sorry you got involved and had to see all this... this ugliness. I swear I never wanted that for you." 

"Don't be sorry. I love you now more than ever." Once again, something about the way Richard makes that statement tells Lee it's not just a convincing line but the unequivocal truth. "You've changed that boy's life forever, in more meaningful ways than I think you can grasp right now. Whatever happens, he will never forget what you've done for him, and neither will his family. And until you can be proud of yourself for that, I will be for the both of us." 

Lee keeps quiet, choking back tears and hanging on to the last threads of his composure as he concentrates on finishing his coffee and cigarette. "God, would you look at me?" he chides himself with a laugh, holding up his unsteady hands. "I have the shakes. Guess I should probably eat something before I pass out on you, huh?" 

He is mostly joking - sure, a stack of maple syrup pancakes would be nice right about now, but the caffeine boost should tide him over until they're home - but barely has he spoken these words or Richard reaches into his jacket, producing one of the granola bars he put in there earlier that night - and which Lee completely forgot about until now - and proffering it to Lee with a smile. It is such an unexpected move and at the same time so very textbook Richard that Lee feels spontaneous laughter bubbling up inside him, but it is short-lived. Instead, that fucking granola bar ends up bringing forth the tears he's been holding in so desperately. 

Even Richard, who isn't new to this by any means - therapy with Fran has wrung them both dry at times - seems a little taken aback by the eruption of pure emotion behind Lee's sudden flow of tears. "Babe, hey, what's this?" he asks softly, wasting no time in wrapping Lee into a secure embrace and holding him tight. "Dry eyes all night and now this. It's just a granola bar." 

Lee hiccups laughter into Richard's shoulder. "It's not the granola bar I'm bawling over, you idiot, it's you. Do you have any idea how amazing you are, and how useless I would have been tonight without you?" 

"That's bollocks, Lee." 

"It's not bollocks. I don't even want to think about what could have happened to Jack if you hadn't been there with me every step of the way. You think I would've gone down those stairs by myself? Hell no. Every step I took, I wanted to turn around and bolt, and if it weren't for you I would have. I was so fucking scared out there." Even when the majority of the tears has been shed, Lee doesn't move or pull away. In fact, if there was any way he could have crawled further into Richard, so wonderfully solid and dependable and _warm_ , he would have. 

"I know you were scared. I also know you were incredibly brave. I didn't make you go down there, Lee - you did that all yourself. It was you leading the way. You are the reason Jack didn't meet a worse fate and gets to go home to his family today. I was just there for chauffeur duty and the occasional pep talk. And snacks." Lee feels him discreetly tucking the granola bar back into his pocket. 

"Pep talk, my ass." Sniffling indistinctly, Lee nuzzles into the crook of Richard's neck and hopes that by doing so he isn't leaving snot on his shirt collar. "Will you please just accept the fact that I'm glad you're here?" 

"Okay, okay." Richard chuckles and touches Lee's neck apologetically. "I just wanted to be there and make things a little easier for you, love, so if I did, I'm glad." 

Lee closes his eyes and sighs gratefully, leaning heavily into Richard's embrace because it feels so fucking good and he isn't ready for it to end quite yet, and Richard is so unabashedly generous with his affection and Lee just can't help lapping it up like a big, greedy, attention-starved cat. And as he is doing this, soaking it all in, he spares a moment to privately marvel at life's unfathomable ways, and how it can change on a dime without so much as a warning. His has certainly done so more than once, both for worse and for better. 

What this has taught him most of all is that it is often the seemingly insignificant moments that prove life-altering. Like that time when he made a split-second decision to get into a smooth-talking stranger's car and regretted it ever since. 

_“Relax, kid, I'm not going to make trouble for you. What's your name?"  
_

_“It’s Roy.”_

He could have run. 

He _should_ have run. 

If only he had. If only he’d had the presence of mind to do a runner like Jack had (and when he was under the influence to boot). Lee had been sober when he’d met Eric in that parking lot, but careless and stupid and so desperate for a fix that he hadn’t thought twice about taking him up on his offer. Then again, if he had - if he had feigned ignorance for long enough for Eric to walk away, or better still, had someone to call to save him before he got in way over his head - he would almost certainly not have crossed paths with Ian more than a year later, got the gig at the tattoo shop, or found himself inking a pair of doves on the ribcage of a man named Graham while his best friend looked on for support. And then where would he be? 

Addiction - not to mention his time with Eric - had been hell on earth; treatment and recovery, at times, even worse. He feels like he has crawled through fire and over broken glass for years to get to where he is today. But if these are the rewards he gets to collect - a job he thrives in, a safe and stable home to return to at the end of the day, this wonderful, caring man he loves more than anything, and the knowledge (even if he isn’t quite ready to admit it to himself) that his own demons have inadvertently led him to save or at the very least better a kid’s life - then maybe, in some bizarrely twisted, macabre sense, it was all worth it. 

And, whispers a quiet little voice timidly in the back of his head, what if Dean is right about him after all? What's to say he can't make a difference in other kids' lives the way he has for Jack? 

It is a thought-provoking idea - one he tucks away for more thorough perusal at a later time. 

"So," Richard says after a few minutes of this, breaking the comfortable silence they've fallen into, "any chance I can persuade you to let me fetch the car, take you home and put you back to bed, after I make us a batch of pancakes for breakfast and call Evie to let her know you won't be coming in for work today?" 

Lee hums approvingly. "Yeah, I'd say there's a pretty good chance. I guess it all depends on whether you're planning on joining me in bed and cuddling me to sleep." 

"Of course there will be cuddles," Richard promises. "All the cuddles you could possibly want and then some. I've got plenty on offer and they're all yours." 

"I can't wait." Lee sighs longingly, wishing he didn't have to break the embrace to make the impossibly long journey home. "I just need to go drop something off inside and then we can be on our way." He can feel the tissue with the pills inside burning a hole in his pocket and is anxious to get rid of it. 

"Okay." Richard lowers his hands to Lee's hips and squeezes slightly. "Are you good to take the car then? You know there will be more traffic this time around." 

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Actually..." 

"Yeah?" 

"As crazy and nerve-wracking as everything was at the time, I felt surprisingly safe last night with you driving." 

"You did?" The confession brings a glow of pleasure to Richard's face. "That's good, Lee. I'm not sure if you meant it as a compliment for my driving but I'll take it." 

Lee smiles. "You _are_ a good driver, Rich. I know you were doing your best to make me feel safe and I love you for that. Of course, the fact that I was focused on Jack may have helped, so - we'll have to see how I fare without that distraction. I don't think I'll be okay to drive everywhere from now on, but maybe we can start with short practice trips now and then? Like, to the dairy and back?" 

"We can, if you want to." There is a gleam of hope in Richard's eyes that belies his nonchalant response. 

"I want to. I want to be able to get into a car without breaking a sweat and go places with you. You know, take trips to wine country like a normal couple." 

Richard raises a mock-skeptical eyebrow at him. "Wine country? Interesting choice for two teetotals like us." 

"The Hamptons, then." Lee shrugs and grins. "We should totally do the Hamptons. I've never been. We could get a proper American car, a pick-up. Load the bikes in the back and go." The thought is actually starting to get him excited - not least because in this scenario he is also picturing a dog on the back seat, sticking its head out the open window - and he grips Richard's arm. "Can we, Rich?" 

Richard chuckles. "Right, that's decided, then. A trip to the Hamptons to celebrate conquering your fear of driving. No rush though, okay? We can take our time with this." 

"It's a deal." Lee can't resist curling his hand around the back of Richard's neck and pulling him in for a slow, grateful kiss that - as their kisses often do - sucks them both in a little faster, a little deeper than they may have intended. It isn't until Richard's phone starts buzzing in his pocket that Lee makes himself pull away regretfully, smiling at Richard's pinked-up cheeks and flushed, swollen mouth. "Let me take a guess. Philippa? You know, it's a good thing I'm not jealous by nature," he jokes, "but if I didn't know any better, Rich, I'd say she has a teeny tiny unprofessional crush on you." 

Richard rolls his eyes at him good-naturedly (if not a little guiltily), brow furrowing as he scrolls down to read the whole message. "It is from Philippa." 

"See? Called it. What's so urgent that it couldn't wait?" 

"It's about _Single Man_." Richard looks up, the slow, incredulous smile spreading across his face rendering further explanation unnecessary, but he says it anyway, almost as if he needs to convince himself it's true and not a hoax. "They want me, love. They want me as George Falconer. I fucking got the part."


	39. Owl

"Hey Lee, there's someone waiting for you at the front desk." Evie's bright orange Pippi Longstocking braids bounce cheerfully on either side of her head as she skips into the office where Lee is supposed to be making some calls to suppliers. Instead, he's gotten distracted sketching some ideas for a parakeet tattoo he will be doing tomorrow. "Asked for you specifically." 

"A walk-in?" He glances at the clock - nearly seven. Richard and Dean should be here soon. "Did you tell them we're closing early today?" 

"Yep." She nods diligently, her springy braids going up and down with the movement, and she leans over the desk for a cheeky look at what he's drawing. "Don't think he's here for a consultation, though. Looked more like a fan to me." 

"A fan?" He looks at her quizzically, his mind not so much on the late visitor as it is on the parakeet he would really like to finish before the idea gets away from him. 

His vacant stare makes her laugh, the dimples in her cheeks materializing. "Yeah, you big dummy, an autograph hunter! After all, you're a celebrity now. Aren't you?" 

When it finally sinks in that she is teasing him - gently, but teasing nonetheless - Lee leans back in his chair with a sheepish grin and waits for her giggles to die down. "Very funny, Eves. Hilarious. You know it's been almost two weeks, right? I think my 'fame', such as it is, is growing a bit stale." 

She sticks her tongue out at him. "Let's reserve judgment on that until Dean gets here, shall we? A little bird tells me he's bringing over a stack of fan mail, and I'm willing to bet that most of it is addressed to you and Aidan." 

"Why's that?" 

"Come on, Lee, don't play dumb." She shakes her head reproachfully. "You are both manly, sexy men, and at least 75 per cent of _People_ 's readership are women and gay men. You do the math. I guarantee that more than a few teenage girls and soccer moms out there are swooning over that topless centerfold of yours. And god only knows what the boooys are using it for." 

"Yes, thank you for that mental picture," he says drily, rolling his eyes. "And it was not a centerfold, lily bud, so you can put away that smirk. I thought we agreed to do the article because we have an important story to put out there, not because we look good with our clothes off." 

"I know," she singsongs obnoxiously, "but it sure is a nice bonus." 

Lee chuckles and puts his pencil down, conceding that the parakeet will have to wait. "Hang on a sec, though - did I just hear you refer to Aidan as manly and sexy? When did this drastic change of opinion occur? It's only been a couple of months since you told me he wasn't enough of a grown-up for your tastes." 

"Yeah, well, it's also been only a few months since _you_ were crying over Luke and saying you weren't ready to date new people," she counters triumphantly, "and look at you now, all happy and in luuuurve." She reaches over and pinches his cheek like she's praising a two-year-old for eating all of his greens. "My point, Leland, is that sometimes things don't turn out the way you expect, and that's a good thing." 

Well - she isn't wrong there. He _is_ in love and happy, so much so that at times he can't help but worry because surely, this kind of happiness can only be temporary? But here they are, five months since he took a night off work to go to the theatre and see a play - planning a future, actually working on building a life together. They'll celebrate their six month anniversary before heading off to Texas for Thanksgiving and then the UK soon after that to meet each other's families (they've already bought the plane tickets), Richard is thriving now that he finally has a new play to get out of bed for in the morning and Lee - Lee is very tentatively exploring a new vocation of his own, the seed of which was planted that night in St Luke's hospital. 

After he and Richard came home that morning, Lee had messaged Evie to ask her to reschedule his appointments while Richard went into the kitchen to make the fastest batch of pancakes in the history of mankind. (Coincidentally, the pancakes were devoured just as quickly as they had materialized.) Richard in turn had messaged Philippa back to reassure her how pleased he was with the good news (and to inform her that he was going to be off-grid for the next couple of hours) before turning his phone off altogether and ushering a haggard and sleep-drunk Lee into the bedroom, where he'd proceeded to help him undress and put him to bed as promised. Lee barely even felt Richard slip under the covers behind him and gather him close before he was out like a light (almost regrettably so, because he'd hoped to be at least semi-conscious for this part, but it was safe to say that they'd more than made up for it later. They hadn't made love that day, though, spending most of it sleeping and dozing and enjoying lots of precious cuddle time in between, leading Lee to decide that sleepy naked cuddles were definitely his favorite kind - and he only had to look at the blissed-out expression on Richard's face to know that he was very much in agreement). 

Lee had called Jack on Skype a few days later for an update. They had talked for almost an hour, Jack looking significantly perkier as he sprawled on the couch with Trixie the cat happily curled up on his chest as a silent witness to the conversation. He was doing okay, he told Lee - he was signed up to start outpatient treatment soon and his school mentor had already been by to talk about his returning to school and catching up on the curriculum. The school was fairly optimistic that if he worked hard and didn't miss any more classes, he would be able to walk with his class come graduation day. He was sober, he assured Lee, and liked the clarity that came with it, even though the feelings about Kieran's death he'd never really dealt with were coming back to hit him hard now that he wasn't using drugs to suppress them anymore. He and his parents were due to start grief counseling for that as well. 

It was such a positive conversation that Lee hesitated to ask about Marcus, but Jack eventually introduced the subject himself, announcing that he'd decided to press charges after all. 

"You have?" Lee asked, more than a little surprised by this turnaround. 

Jack shrugged. "Let's be realistic, the odds of him getting caught are probably pretty slim, but the bastard must be shitting bricks right now knowing that I have his phone. So I figured I might as well go and hand it over." 

"That's the right thing to do, Jack," Lee said. "Too often these types get to walk away scot free because their victims are either too scared or too ashamed to go to the police. If they ask, feel free to give them my name and information; I'd be more than happy to go down to the station and give a statement, if that would help your case at all." 

"Thanks, I will." Jack petted Trixie thoughtlessly, grimacing slightly in discomfort when she curled her front paws into his shirt (and, likely, skin). "Did your guy ever get caught?" 

"No. I never pressed charges." Lee was well aware of the hypocrisy in his rooting for Jack to do differently. "But I should have. And that's why I'm so proud of you for doing this, buddy." 

A few days after this conversation, the mailman had delivered a package addressed to Lee. Inside were a thank you note from Jack's parents, two invitations to an upcoming art show opening at one of New York's best known galleries (Lee remembered seeing the announcement online) and - carefully wrapped in layers and layers of paper - a lovely little soapstone sculpture from Mrs. O'Gorman's own studio that fit in the palm of his hand. (Dean had once mentioned that she was a semi-professional artist and quite an accomplished one at that.) It represented a mother owl with her chick nestled under her wing. 

Lee was genuinely touched - he suspected that the symbol had not been chosen randomly - and gave the piece pride of place so Richard could see it when he came home from the theatre. He also marked the date of the art show in his calendar, privately conceding that maybe the time had come for him to go shopping for some suits and dress shirts - possibly even a tux - of his own, because if he wanted to make his comeback in the art and theatre scene a successful one and show people that he belonged, he would have to adapt to its dress codes. One thing was for sure - he couldn't show up to Richard's next premiere the way he had to the previous one. 

(Richard had latched onto the idea immediately. They'd gone shopping the very next day and spent an exorbitant amount of money - in Lee's mind, at least - on clothes purely for Lee, prompting him to joke that he felt like a male version of Julia Roberts's character in _Pretty Woman_. 

"Too bad I'm no Richard Gere," Richard retorted playfully. 

Lee didn't need more prodding than that to tease him some more. "What are you talking about, baby? You're a dreamboat in your own right. You may not have the silver fox thing going yet, but give it another decade." Laughing at Richard's startled expression - vanity was very much a flaw of his, and he obsessively checked for grey hairs every day even though he probably thought Lee hadn't noticed - Lee looked at the shop clerk, who seemed thoroughly amused by the whole exchange. "Back me up here, miss. I'm not wrong, am I?" 

"Don't make her answer that," Richard protested, blushing profusely, and Lee had let it rest so as not to embarrass him further. Once Richard was out of earshot for a moment, however, the girl had told Lee in a confidential whisper that he was definitely not wrong.) 

Since Richard had been cast to play the title role in _A Single Man_ , things had been moving quickly on that front. The other actors had been notified on the same day as Richard, and it was only a few days later that he'd gone down to the theatre to sign the papers and meet his fellow cast. A press release was issued and the news was picked up immediately by a number of media outlets, the majority of which mentioned Richard's acclaimed performances in _The Crucible_ and _Vincent_ and spoke positively about this bold new choice. ARMITAGE TO RETURN TO BROADWAY, one of them headlined in jubilant bold letters. ARMITAGE CAST IN GAY PLAY, blurted another somewhat predictably, while a prominent LGBT-oriented website speculated openly about whether or not Richard might have a personal connection to the themes touched on by the original work. (Apparently, the fact that Richard had taken a male date to a fundraiser a few months earlier had mostly passed unnoticed.) 

Richard took it all in his stride, and not a day went by that he and Philippa didn't bicker on the phone about which interview requests to grant and which to decline while Lee listened in the background grinning and shaking his head in amused bewilderment. 

"The two of you have what must be the most unprofessional working relationship in the industry," he said to Richard after he'd hung up. "But it seems to be working well for you, so don't change a thing about it." 

Richard ended up doing a handful of interviews over the phone and e-mail, gracefully dodging all questions that so much as alluded to his own sexuality. "At the end of the day, I just want to be part of something special," Lee heard him telling one reporter, "and _A Single Man_ is that. I read the novel when I was in my twenties and it's the kind of story that sticks with you. When this opportunity came along, there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I had to go for it." 

While Lee certainly didn't blame Richard for not spilling the details of his private life to the first journalist who asked, the fact that he avoided the issue altogether came as a bit of a surprise. He had never known Richard to be coy about these things, especially since he had spent so many years hoping a role like this would come his way and had told Philippa that he didn't want to live his life in a closet the way he had been forced to with Andrew. He stewed over it for a few hours before bringing it up at dinner that evening. 

It turned out that he hadn't been the only one stewing. 

"Actually, to be quite honest with you, I haven't quite figured out how to approach this thing yet," Richard confessed as he put down his knife and fork. "I don't want to make some big hoopla out of it, you know? Philippa thinks I should just show up at the functions with you on my arm and let people figure it out for themselves, but you know the press would have a field day with that. It would take some of the focus away from the play and nobody wants that, me least of all. So - until I figure it out, I'm just playing for time, basically." 

"Rich, you and me walking the red carpet together is going to make waves no matter how you spin it. All you can hope for is to cushion the blow a little bit." Lee paused, aware that he'd brought up a sensitive - but important - point. "This may be a bit of a shock coming from me but have you considered talking to Dean? I'm not sure if there could be a conflict of interest there, but even if he can't do it, he may be able to suggest someone trustworthy." 

Richard nodded slowly. "Yeah, Dean crossed my mind as well. It may be worth a shot; can't hurt to ask, at any rate." He reached a hand out for Lee's, playing with his fingers thoughtfully for a moment before giving Lee a wistful smile. "This right here is the unfair part, isn't it? There's always that need to explain. Why do we have to go through this 'coming out' nonsense and deal with all the scrutiny? Why can't we just turn up holding hands without it being fodder for the press or something for people to feel offended by?" 

"I know, baby." Pretending that his heart wasn't doing a little jump at the mental image of he and Richard walking the red carpet hand in hand, Lee gave his fingers a sympathetic squeeze. "But it will be okay, I promise. We still have the whole rehearsal period to figure this out. Just... talk to me about these things, okay? As your boyfriend, I kind of take an interest in the whole coming out nonsense, in case you were unclear on that." 

Richard smiled gratefully. "You're absolutely right, Lee. This affects you too, and I should have said something sooner. I'm sorry for making you worry." 

The first reactions of the press aside, however, things more or less normalized once rehearsals kicked off and Richard and Lee found a new routine to settle into. They saw each other less (and had to accept the regrettable fact that the long, lazy mornings in bed were a thing of the past) but in return, Lee got to come home at the end of the day and listen to Richard talk with boundless enthusiasm about the scenes they'd rehearsed that day, things his fellow cast members had said at lunch or the antics of the director. He'd also had his first fitting session with the costume department and been asked to let himself get out of shape a little bit (an instruction he'd taken with a great deal of professionalism at the time but had a private little whine to Lee about later). To become George, a bereaved fifty-something professor worn down by grief and depression, he'd have to age by at least ten years and that involved more than makeup and adding a little grey to his hair. 

(Needless to say that Lee did his part in reassuring Richard that he wouldn't mind handling a few extra pounds of meat at all - in fact, he elaborated as he dug his fingers into Richard's sides and pinched teasingly, a cute little tummy and some love handles might prove just as much of a turn-on as the toned, trim body he had now. He could tell from Richard's dubious expression that he didn't believe him, so he made a mental note to repeat it sincerely and often in the time to come. 

"Come on, Rich, you're more than just your waistline. It's the whole package I'm attracted to, inside and out." Somehow, one of his wandering hands had then ended up inside Richard's boxer briefs and wrapped around his hardening cock, and before long he had Richard thrusting into his fist with abandon and grunting unintelligibly as he chased release, unable to tell left from right, let alone remember what they'd been talking about or worry about something as trivial as a little potbelly.) 

A little over a week into rehearsals, Richard had come home from the theatre one evening to find Lee already tucked up in bed with the iPad. With a sigh of relief, he'd kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed behind Lee, snuggling up to him and curling an arm around his waist. "God, I'm knackered. Couldn't be happier to finally be home." 

"Glad to have you." Lee smiled when Richard nuzzled the nape of his neck making grunty happy noises. "I left half a lasagna for you in the fridge, if you're hungry." 

"That's very thoughtful, babe. Maybe later, though. I'm far too comfortable right here at the moment." He propped himself up on an elbow to sneak a curious peek over Lee's shoulder at the iPad screen. "Oh god, Lee. The Humane Society? Adoptapet.com?" 

"I'm just having a look around," Lee sputtered guiltily. 

"Just a look around? Lee, you have at least fifteen tabs open." 

"It's called research, Rich. If we want to come prepared, we have to know where we're going to look and what we're going to look for. Here..." He switched randomly between tabs, pointing at the screen to show Richard his finds. "How can you not fall in love with that precious little face? And what about this one, look - left for dead in a dumpster, can you believe the cruelty of some people? And there's hundreds of these waiting in shelters all over New York." 

"Exactly. And we can't take them all in, Lee." 

"I know that, but... we can start with one. Just one, Rich. Imagine the pitter-patter of little paws. A fur baby that's yours and mine." 

Richard groaned (but Lee could hear the sound tailing off into a chuckle as he buried his face against his shoulder). "Who would take care of it when we're both working?" 

It was a question Lee was prepared for. "He or she could come to the shop with me. Snooze in the office and get spoiled by all the customers. And we could go for a walk during my break. It's a really dog friendly neighborhood." 

A sigh. "You really think we're ready?" 

"Yeah, I reckon we are. No time like the present, right?" Sensing that Richard was genuinely tired, however, Lee decided to give the topic a rest for now and put the iPad away, turning around to settle on his other side and face Richard. "Do you wanna tell me about your day? Or do you just wanna snuggle?" 

Richard smiled. "Is this an ultimatum? Do I have to choose?" 

"Oh, you want both? Sure, we can do both. Here, let me make you a bit more comfortable." With practiced fingers, Lee teased one of Richard's shirt buttons through its hole to open his collar a bit more, immediately taking advantage by slipping his hand inside. "Don't let this distract you, though. I'm very good at snuggling." 

"Believe me, Lee, I am well aware of that." Richard closed his eyes, for a moment just enjoying the gentle scrape of Lee's fingers against his skin. His breathing evened out slowly, and Lee wouldn't have been surprised at all if he'd fallen asleep right then and there. After a minute or two, however, he opened his eyes again. "Hey - remember I told you about Cory?" 

He had indeed told Lee about Cory, like he'd talked about all his fellow cast members. It was not a large cast, only five or six speaking roles, and Richard had several key scenes to play opposite Cory, who'd been cast as Kenny, a student who takes more than a passing interest in George. He was in his early twenties, insanely talented, fresh out of drama school, but green as grass when it came to actual stage experience. From what Richard had told him, though, Lee could tell that he enjoyed working with the younger actor. He nodded encouragingly. "I do." 

"Well..." Richard cleared his throat, a blush crawling up the sides of his neck. "Turns out he's my number one fan." His obvious discomfort only increased when he saw Lee's look of confusion, and he quickly went on to explain what had occurred. 

That afternoon, when they'd all packed up to go on their lunch break, Cory had clearly looked for excuses to dawdle until he could talk to Richard alone for a moment, suggesting they go grab a coffee together to exchange ideas about a particular scene. They'd ended up at a quaint lunchroom across the street where Cory was a frequent patron, or so he told Richard as he ushered him to a private little table in the back (despite the fact that several more desirable tables by the window were unoccupied). 

"This is nice, isn't it?" Cory said as he picked a seat and slid the menu across the table. "I can recommend the Mexican lunch special - that's what I always order. I don't know if you're a vegetarian, but they have a good selection of that stuff too. Are you? A vegetarian?" 

"Uh... no." Richard glanced absent-mindedly at the menu, then back up at Cory. "But I thought - wasn't this supposed to be just coffee?" 

"Ah, what the heck." Cory shrugged and smiled. "It's lunchtime and we're here, so... might as well grab a bite. I'm starving, aren't you?" 

After placing their orders, they'd talked about the play for a few minutes; that was to say, Richard had tried to get a constructive conversation going while Cory - whose suggestion it had been to begin with - looked increasingly flustered and had surprisingly little to contribute. It was all a bit mystifying, really, until- 

"God, it's, like, such a kick to work with you," Cory suddenly blurted, apropos of nothing, as he planted his elbows on the table and leaned closer. The kid was positively gleaming, eyes bright with enthusiasm. "I'm sorry, I've been really trying to stay cool and professional, but I just have to gush at you for a sec. When they told me you were up for the part, I was like stoked. Crossed all my fingers and toes hoping you'd get it." 

Taken aback a little by this unprompted avalanche of words, Richard hadn't quite known how to respond gracefully, but he'd mustered his best smile. "Right, well - thanks for the positive vibes?" 

He'd hoped the conversation would veer back to the actual play after that, but Cory was by no means done lavishing praise on him yet. In fact, he seemed to only just be getting started. "Seriously, though. I can't even tell you how many times I went to see _The Crucible._ I'm sorry, I'm sure you have to listen to people telling you this all the time, but damn, that was such an inspired performance. The whole cast was incredible, but what you did with Proctor was just..." Cory gesticulated as he talked, running fingers through his artfully tousled hair every so often (which, Richard couldn't help but notice, somehow managed to stay perfectly in place regardless). "I mean, how did you get yourself into that headspace night after night? Did you struggle? No, of course you didn't," he amended, with a slightly embarrassed blush, "you're Richard Armitage. But you were sensational." 

"I did struggle," Richard admitted (he had to throw the kid a bone, even if he didn't feel comfortable with sharing all the details of what he'd gone through during that intense time). "I struggled a lot, and there were definitely times when it all felt like it was going to overwhelm me - but you just have to power on through and get the job done, and it will always be worth it in the end. You learn these things from experience. If you ever end up being gifted a demanding role like that, though, you need to make sure you've got a good support system in place - people who can drag you out of the house and remind you that living in that character's skin isn't going to last forever." 

"Is that what you had?" 

Richard thought for a moment. "No - not as much as I probably needed. There were days when I was lost in Salem and couldn't find my way back. Those were the hardest." 

Cory nodded emphatically. It was a little disconcerting how fervently he was hanging onto Richard's every word. "Your scenes with Cate were, like, crazy intense," he said, color rising to his cheeks. "That was some insane chemistry you had going. I bet you got along brilliantly off stage as well." 

It was far from the first time someone had alluded to his and Cate's relationship - some gossip rags at the time had even speculated about a passionate off-stage affair, which Richard found distasteful as Cate was married and a mother - and Richard decided it was time for him to gracefully change the topic. "We're still good friends, if that is what you mean. I'm very grateful for _The Crucible_ and for the ways in which it has made me grow as an actor, but if you don't mind, I'd much rather talk about the play we're here to work on, aka _A Single Man_." 

"Of course," Cory said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go all fanboy on you and make you uncomfortable. Should have known you were super humble from all the interviews I read. I just needed to get that off my chest, you know? Tell you how watching you keep a room full of people mesmerized made me want to be a better actor myself." He offered up a beguiling smile and touched Richard's wrist in what seemed like an apologetic gesture. "But I promise I can talk about things other than Miller and how much of an inspiration you are to young actors and to me personally." 

Up until that point, Lee had been listening without comment (although his left eyebrow had been slowly crawling upwards as Richard spoke until it had all but attached itself permanently to his hairline), but here he snorted, the sound garnering a confused blink from Richard. 

"What?" he questioned, his genuine bewilderment only making Lee's smirk more pronounced. "I swear I'm not making this stuff up, Lee. It was probably the most uncomfortable experience of my life aside from having my prostate examined by my doctor, except this took a lot longer. Why are you looking at me like that?" 

Choking back a giggle - but only barely - Lee cleared his throat self-consciously. "Oh god, where to start? First of all, let me just say that I absolutely share this kid's sentiments, but secondly - Christ, Richard, it just occurred to me that I was exactly like this when I met you. Don't you remember? I was so starstruck I practically pissed myself. Couldn't stop gurgling at you about how amazing you were, and I didn't even have Cory's excuse - all I had seen of  _The Crucible_  were the freaking posters." 

"You were _not_ exactly like this when we met," Richard objected. "Even if I was too busy staring at your beautiful hands and being insanely attracted to you to remember exactly what you said, I do remember that I wasn't embarrassed but flattered. Please don't compare yourself to him, because you aren't even on the same page." 

"Umm, I beg to differ. I think we are very much on the same page, about one thing at least." Lee grinned, unable to contain his glee. "From what I'm hearing, it very much sounds like dear young Cory wants to get into your pants, and rather badly at that." 

Richard just gawked at him for a few moments, too baffled to give a prompt response. "Oh come on, Lee, be serious. Granted, he was overdoing it slightly - okay, maybe a lot - but you can't possibly think that a boy his age would look at me that way. He's just a wide-eyed kid on his first job, fawning over his role models the way we did when we were younger. Doesn't mean he's thinking anything untoward. And now it's out of his system and we can get on with the job." 

"Mmm, sure." Lee found Richard's rationalizations thoroughly amusing and more than a little baffling. How could an otherwise so perceptive man like Richard be so stubbornly in denial about the possibility that a boy of twenty might find him attractive? "Tell me what happened at the end. Who picked up the tab?" 

"I did." Richard shrugged like it was obvious. "Of course I did. Would I let a kid who's just out of school and probably up to his ears in debt pay for my salad? Come on." 

"I know, you're an old-fashioned gent." Lee sighed indulgently. "Just don't be surprised if Cory interpreted your chivalry as an encouraging sign, is all I'm saying." 

Richard huffed a little bit but then went silent for a minute as the first signs of doubt crept in - Lee could see that telltale look slowly settling on Richard's face as he chewed on the things Lee had said. As amusing as Richard's cluelessness was, Lee felt for him. A castmate with a crush could really sour the working relationship if it wasn't nipped in the bud quickly, and while Lee didn't doubt that Richard would do so with professionalism, it was a far from ideal start. 

"The whole thing is just so perplexing," Richard spluttered, not quite so sure of himself now. "I mean, let's be real, I'm nearly twice his age - Jesus, I could be his _father_ \- why on earth would he be flirting with a stale old piece of toast like me?" 

"Oh, I can think of a few reasons," Lee said lightly, drawing his fingers along Richard's collarbone and then slowly down his sternum. "You're incredibly talented, for one thing. Wasn't a coincidence that I first realized I had fallen for you right after I saw _Vincent_ for the first time." 

"Really?" A little smile of surprise appeared on Richard's face. "You never told me. That that was when you first knew, I mean." 

"I drew you flowers and burbled like a crazy person all evening. Yeah, I was pretty much a goner." Lee smiled. "And a lot of that was due to the way you burned up the stage with some of the most intense acting I had ever witnessed in person. I'm not done," he went on when Richard opened his mouth to speak. "My point is, you're too hung up on the age thing when the fact of the matter, babe, is that you're fucking sexy and will be for a long time to come. You have that big, strapping manly thing going that a lot of people, myself included, are into. And if I may speak plainly for a moment..." 

"Oh god," Richard muttered. "I'm not sure what's coming but I'm probably going to wish you hadn't said it." 

Lee grinned, Richard's obvious embarrassment not enough to dissuade him. "Well, speaking of big and strapping - have I ever told you that your cock is one of the most amazing-" 

" _Lee_ ," Richard groaned, closing his eyes in mortification. "Can we please go back to discussing this Cory situation?" 

"I thought we were." 

"I'm not sure what you think happened at this lunch," Richard teased, "but it wasn't _that_. I didn't encourage this kid, Lee." 

"Doesn't matter." Lee shrugged. "I'm sorry to burst the bubble but your secret's out, Rich. It's been out for a long time. It's pretty obvious from the way you walk and move that you're fantastic in the sack, and every person you meet on the street probably knows it too." 

"Oh, do they?" 

"Afraid so, yeah. So no, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Cory was bitten by the love bug. Although for his sake and yours, I hope I'm wrong." 

"God, so do I." Richard sighed, shifting his hand from the small of Lee's back to the dip of his waist, right above his hip - the hip that had the phoenix tail curled around it. "So - you really think I'm some kind of sex god, huh?" 

Lee immediately picked up on the flirtatious undercurrent that had crept into Richard's tone and answered in kind. "I sure do, baby, as I've told you on several occasions and will continue to remind you every day if I have to." 

"Yeah? Anything in particular that warrants a mention, other than my cock? And don't give me that shit about liking the whole package, I want specifics this time." 

"Mmm, let me think," Lee teased, withdrawing his hand from inside Richard's shirt and stroking his forearm thoughtlessly, stopping at the wrist. "Hands. Definitely hands. Chest. Ass. Those amazing, muscular thighs that I like to feel squeezing my waist." His eyes flicked up to Richard's face. "Mouth. Perfect for kissing. And... for other enjoyable things." 

"Yeah?" Richard's gaze was heated as it trailed down Lee's face slowly. "Which do you like more - hands or mouth?" 

"What is this, an ultimatum?" Lee said, jokingly echoing Richard's words back at him as if he wasn't half hard already from the mere tone of Richard's voice. "I guess it depends on what you're using it for." 

Richard's hand now exerted a light pressure on Lee's hip until he rolled over on his back obligingly, Richard scooting down the bed and glancing up at Lee to seek eye contact, the little nod that meant permission to continue. "Choose and I will show you," he promised, pulling slowly at the drawstring of Lee's comfy sweats. 

"Mouth," Lee breathed, realizing how keen he sounded but quite unable to be embarrassed about it. It was a no-brainer, really. He loved a slow, torturous hand job as much as the next guy, but nothing topped the things Richard could do with his mouth. 

"Excellent choice." Richard smiled the words against Lee's skin as he peeled the sweats away from his hips like he was unwrapping a luxury gift, with care and attention and no hurry at all. Lee could feel his warm breath on him as the fabric was worked past his knees, down his calves and ankles, until he was completely bare and those hands returned to separate his thighs decisively before confident fingers wrapped around the base (which he guessed was cheating, but fuck if he gave a damn), followed by soft lips and then tongue and then - _oh_. 

He closed his eyes and all but felt himself melting into the mattress as his cock was taken into Richard's mouth slowly and deliberately, a sensation still every bit as incredible as it had been the first time (no, better even, because they had learned so much about each other since then and Richard used all that cumulatively gathered knowledge to his advantage now to diligently and patiently bring Lee to the brink before allowing him to shatter into a thousand pieces). 

It was the kind of blow job that made a man forget his own name (Richard's specialty): slow, uninterrupted, mostly quiet right up until the end, just the soft slick noises of Richard's mouth and throat at work and Lee's breath stuttering in his chest and the whisper of his fingers raking through Richard's hair, their grip tightening spasmodically as the heat building inside him erupted and flooded into Richard's waiting mouth. Richard moaned at the taste as he sucked and swallowed around him comfortably, tongue deftly tracing the ridge and teasing the frenulum, seemingly for the sole purpose of prolonging his orgasm and making his spine arch, his body twist and curl into the bed. It left him floppy-limbed and trembling, too preoccupied with gulping for breath and trying not to pass out from lack of oxygen to even lift his head and watch Richard's head bob diligently between his thighs a couple more times before he pulled off with a soft exhale and crawled up to Lee to give him an unhurried, salty-bitter kiss. 

It was things like these - the conversations, the cuddles, the kisses, the teasing remarks, the mindblowing sex (whether it was a long, luxurious lovemaking session or a spontaneous blow job in the shower or anything in between), even the odd little squabble - that made Lee more sure with each passing day. 

This was it. He was home. And while he hoped it would last a lifetime, he reminded himself frequently to celebrate every day and just be thankful that life's unfathomable ways had somehow brought him here - that he'd decided to go to the theatre that Friday night in May (instead of making his hours at the shop and going home to binge on ice cream with Evie) and overcome his anxiety to have a drink with the star of the play and recognized a good thing when it was sitting in front of him. 

The next morning Richard was more disorganized than usual, eating his breakfast standing at the kitchen counter, burning his tongue on the coffee he chucked down his throat when it was still far too hot and generally running around in circles trying to get ready. Too sleepy to be of any use, Lee just tried to stay out of the way, curling up on the couch with a bowl of muesli he went on to chew somewhat lethargically (he'd gotten into the habit of getting up at the same time as Richard but he really didn't have much of an appetite this early in the day). Even though he'd had an excellent night's sleep, he very seriously considered crawling back into bed after Richard left. After all, he still had more than a dozen tabs with adoptable dogs open on the iPad that he wanted to finish going through. 

Once Richard emerged from the bedroom fully dressed, however, all thoughts of bed and dogs promptly evacuated his mind. 

"Sorry, love, gotta run." Richard snatched up his backpack and stepped over the coffee table to kiss Lee goodbye. Despite the rush, he took his time for it, giving the back of Lee's neck an affectionate squeeze before pulling away. "Have a lovely day, yeah? I'll call you at lunch." 

"Yeah... okay. Thanks." 

Richard was already halfway across the room when Lee snapped out of his trance and catapulted himself off the couch, catching up with him at the door. "Wait - hang on just a sec. Turn around." 

"Lee, I'm late already as it is," Richard protested, although he did do as asked and looked in confusion at Lee, who just stood gawking. "What's wrong? Is my fly open? Is my underwear showing?" 

Lee shook his head slowly. Richard's underwear wasn't showing, but other things definitely were. He was wearing a snug black T-shirt with a low V-neck that hugged his chest and shoulders in all the right places and a new pair of jeans that made his ass pop like nobody's business. The whole ensemble left little to the imagination - not even the tattoo on his bicep, the swallow's tail peeking out enticingly from under the sleeve. The sight made something twitch in Lee's belly, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine pulling Richard straight back to bed, peeling all that form-fitting denim and cotton off his person and licking every inch of him, starting with that fucking tattoo. 

"Lee?" Richard prompted, somewhat impatiently now. 

"Sorry," Lee grinned unapologetically, dragging his eyes up the length of Richard's body to meet his gaze. "I just couldn't help but notice that you look especially fuckable today and had to have a proper ogle. I do worry Cory's poor heart might give out when you show up like this, though. I hope you're not going to work looking like sex on legs just to test my theory about him." 

"What?" Richard looked genuinely baffled and appalled at the idea. "Of course not. I was in a hurry, I just picked the clothes that were on top of the pile. I didn't even stop to look in the mirror." 

Lee seriously doubted the last part was true, but he more than happily went along with it. "Well, you should have, because now I obviously can't let you leave before I've copped a feel." He boldly stepped into Richard's space and slid his hands around to the back for a blatant ass squeeze, noticing that Richard failed miserably at trying to look stern and disapproving, his hips even twitching forward in an unconscious little grind. Richard really did have a spectacular ass and Lee was more than okay with all of New York knowing that, but it couldn't hurt to remind the man what he would be coming home to at the end of the day. He gave another strong squeeze for good measure before reaching up and curling his fingers around Richard's biceps instead. With his thumb he gave the swallow's tail a reverent little stroke, trying to work out why this teasing tiny peek affected him as strongly as it did. Perhaps it was the fact that Richard obviously felt comfortable enough to go to work knowing that the people there would likely see it and make comments (he could easily have chosen a T-shirt with longer sleeves to cover it up), while the tattoo in its entirety - as well as the memories of the day he painstakingly inked it into Richard's skin - remained reserved for Lee and Lee alone. 

God, it turned him on. 

"Lee." Richard cleared his throat, his smile indulgent. "Eyes are up here, love." 

Groaning, Lee let his hands travel south once more, extremely put out by the realization that it would be more than twelve hours before he'd get to do more than grope a little. "You just look so damn good, babe," he whined, leaning in for a little nuzzle of Richard's neck. "How am I supposed to function today knowing that you're halfway across Manhattan looking sumptuous in these absolutely sinful clothes?" 

"I'm sorry, I would change if I had the time but I don't." Richard was grinning now, flattered in spite of himself. "But I'll let you peel them off me tonight, how's that?" 

Not above exploiting the fact that for all his talk of being late, Richard seemed surprisingly reluctant to leave, Lee had succeeded in milking the moment for a couple more minutes, most of which they spent necking enthusiastically against the door until Richard eventually put an end to it, gently and - Lee noted with satisfaction - more than a little regretfully, hair noticeably disheveled from Lee's raking fingers and voice distinctly lacking in breath. "Don't get me wrong, Lee, I love an impromptu makeout session as much as the next guy, but I really need to go now." 

"If you insist," Lee conceded, stepping back so Richard could leave but taking advantage of his turning away to give his ass a parting slap. "Have a good day at work then, stud, and see you tonight. Spaghetti for dinner and sex for dessert, so be in time." The appalled look Richard gave him right before the door closed put a grin on Lee's face that refused to be wiped off for the rest of the morning as he went about his routine. It was a Monday and the shop was closed, which meant time to clean the apartment, catch up on laundry, restock the fridge and doodle to his heart's content. 

At 12.30 PM (on the dot) his phone rang, and he reached for it with an anticipatory grin. Richard didn't call every day, and rarely this early - on some days the director and cast lost all track of time and either went overtime or forgot to have lunch altogether, not a rarity in the world of theatre that ran on workaholics' blood, sweat and mania - but when he did, it was usually just to share some tidbits about his morning and inquire about Lee's before he too left to go to work. Relaxed and mundane conversations that were nevertheless a highlight of Lee's day. 

"My, aren't you Mr. Punctual today," he opened the conversation cheerfully, not waiting for Richard's greeting (usually an affectionate 'hi, love' that never failed to warm his chest). "I hope that doesn't mean you all flubbed your lines this morning and were sent off to lunch early to redo your homework." 

"Uh, no. It's going fine." The reply rang unexpectedly flat, tempering Lee's exuberance and replacing it with worry. This was not how Richard sounded when he was merely tired or absorbed in the creative process; there was something more at play. "We stopped a little early because it's Linda's birthday and someone arranged for a surprise cake to be delivered, and cake obviously trumps play, so. Yep. It's all good. Uh, except -" 

Lee found the silence that followed unnerving, and eventually had to break it himself. "Rich, what's wrong? What happened? Shit, did I make you late this morning? Were you told off?" A weight of preemptive guilt settled in his stomach at the thought that his stalling tactics might have gotten Richard in trouble with his new employers whom he still felt he had so much to prove to. 

"No, no," Richard reassured him quickly. "Nothing like that, love, I promise. It's just that - ah, I probably shouldn't be telling you this over the phone, but - you were right. About Cory." 

Cory. Somehow, between furious kissing and groceries, Lee had forgotten about him. “I - what? What do you mean, I was right? Did he - what did he say? What did he _do_?” 

“He didn’t _do_ anything,” Richard responded immediately, thankfully knowing exactly what Lee had meant - because as soon as he had said those words a disturbing picture had started to crystallize in his mind, Cory (who in his imagination had the obnoxiously good looks of a fresh-faced, pouty-mouthed teen pop idol) leaning over to Richard with parted lips to take something that wasn’t his to take, and it had an irrational but angry little coil of jealousy twisting in his gut. “He just, um - he was a little over familiar, if you catch my drift, and you sort of came up in conversation, and -” 

“I came up? What do you mean, I came up?” Lee paused, his mind instantly providing a couple of possible scenarios. “Was it the hair? Did it give you away?” 

“It - what was wrong with my hair?” 

“Nothing,” Lee said hastily, biting down on the inside of cheek to keep himself from snorting at the sudden concern that had appeared in Richard’s tone, “nothing at all, Rich. Just tell me exactly what happened. Leave nothing out.” 

“He -” There was a sudden burst of noise at the other end of the line. “Just a sec, Lee, hang on.” As Richard angled the phone away from his ear, Lee could hear him speaking lowly to someone else, using a completely different, professional tone that harkened back to _Vincent_ days. Lee got the feeling that the ill-timed interruption was not one of his colleagues but someone a bit higher up, and he waited impatiently for Richard to finish, hoping against hope that whoever it was wouldn't need something from Richard right this very minute. 

“Sorry, love,” Richard said, louder again, “but I have to go shake hands with some VIPs and then I better go and see if there's any cake left before we crack down on the second act - gotta work on my pear shape, after all. I’ll fill you in on the details tonight, okay?” 

“Fine, I guess,” Lee grumbled, “so long as your little admirer over there keeps his mitts off you.” 

He cringed a little hearing those words come out of his mouth. So much for his proud proclamations that he was not a jealous person. But damn it, what normal forty-year-old man would not be secretly flattered, even tempted, when a boy half his age - a talented, wholesome boy with a bright future unthreatened by addiction, phobias or trauma still ahead of him - expressed an interest? Even if he would never act on it - and deep inside Lee knew perfectly well that he wouldn't - the mere possibility must have boosted Richard's ego at the very least. 

“Trust me, baby,” Richard insisted, with that quiet, anchoring certainty in his tone that proved as effective against the green-eyed monster as it previously had against other, considerably more powerful demons, “there is absolutely nothing for you to worry about.” 

Lee felt moderately reassured when they hung up - sufficiently so that he was able to refrain from making a beeline to the computer and diving into Cory's social media accounts to see what kind of kid he was up against - but without work to distract him it was almost too easy for his overactive mind to conjure up an unrelenting barrage of images of what could possibly have happened to convince Richard that Cory's intentions were less than pure. As a result the afternoon crawled by at a snail's pace, and by the time Richard's key could finally be heard turning in the front door lock, after what must have been the longest couple of hours of Lee's existence, the need to know exactly what had transpired had built to fever height, the time for subtleties and gentle questioning long past. 

“Dinner,” he instructed, setting Richard down on the couch after stripping him of his backpack and the book he’d been reading on the subway and pushing a steaming plate of spaghetti bolognese (topped heavily with parmesan, of course) into his lap. “Eat up and tell me about your day. Starting with Cory.” 

Richard grinned somewhat guiltily. “This has really been bothering you, hasn't it? I told you not to worry.” 

“I'm not worried," Lee blatantly lied. "But when you drop a bombshell like that and then make me wait all afternoon for the details, you can't blame my thoughts for running a bit wild. I’ve been going stir crazy over here. Now spill.” 

It was almost a relief to find out that the whole episode had been much less dramatic than he’d been imagining (and had certainly not involved a passionate lip-lock or any of the other outlandish scenarios his subconscious had so generously provided). 

That morning Cory had already been waiting for Richard when he arrived, lingering by the door faux-casually with a book tucked under his arm, although he quickly straightened up when he caught sight of Richard and offered him a smile that was probably intended to look lazy and effortless but instead came across as unnatural and slightly nervous. 

“Richard, hey. I, uh - I brought you this.” Without further explanation, he thrust out the book, the title of which Richard vaguely recalled as one that had briefly come up during lunch the day before. Had he passingly expressed an interest in reading it? It was possible, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what he'd said. 

“Thanks, Cory,” Richard murmured, doing his best to mask his uncertainty (because in spite of his doubts, Lee's remarks had stuck with him and put him on his guard in a way that he hadn't been the day before, making him look at Cory through suspicious glasses; but at the same time, he wasn't ready to entirely discard the possibility that the kid was just being friendly and trying to impress a more established actor, either). He reached for the book and instinctively turned it around to read the blurb on the back in hopes that it would jog his memory. 

“No problem. You can keep it for as long as you need to, although I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up reading it in one sitting like I did. As I said, I think you'll love it. Hey, what’s that on your arm?” Before Richard could respond, curious fingers were pressing against his bicep, working the fabric of his sleeve up like they had a right to, and Richard probably would have said something then had he not been so preoccupied with the look of surprise and awed fascination that crossed Cory’s face. 

“Oh wow, that’s an amazing tat you got.” 

“Thanks,” Richard responded, not entirely comfortable with the intense and unsolicited scrutiny from his younger costar, “had it done for my fortieth last month. Thought I might as well embrace the midlife crisis.” 

“Oh, fairly recent then. Neat." Cory leaned closer - unnervingly close, in fact - to inspect the image. "It's so well done - that bird looks almost real. What do the letters and numbers stand for?” 

Inwardly revolting at the idea of having to explain the reference to a drama school graduate, Richard had answered evasively. "Oh, it - it's a Shakespeare thing. Drama nerd, you know. It's kinda personal." 

“It suits you,” Cory told him shyly as he raised his eyes to Richard's face, his fingers lingering on his skin for what seemed like a fraction too long. “I didn't have you pegged as the type, to be honest, but it really does. Your tattoo artist must be crazy talented.” 

“He is,” Richard acknowledged, hearing his voice take on a fond tone of pride he was sure would give him away then and there. 

Cory however did not seem to pick up on it. “You see so many badly done tattoos,” he said, his voice taking on the hurried, rambling tone of a nervous talker. “If I were to get one, I'd make sure to pick the best artist for the job. If it's going on my body, it better be good. Where did you get yours done? Do you think you could write down the guy’s details for me?” 

“It’s, um, a little shop in the East Village,” Richard said, skirting around the fact that the tattoo had not in fact been done in the shop but in his own living room ( _and_ the fact that it had been followed by such a spectacular fuck, because those two events were inextricably linked in his mind and always would be, and every time he looked at the tattoo he would think of the look in Lee's eyes just before he came and the way Lee's cock had felt inside him like it was made for him - it wasn't particularly helpful to have these thoughts and images floating around his mind when trying to have a coherent conversation with anyone, let alone this kid who seemed to be trying to get into his personal space at every turn), “and I’m sure Lee would be happy to talk to you about what you’d like to get done, whenever that is. You'll get to meet him soon enough - I imagine he’ll end up ducking in to at least one rehearsal.” 

(“Oh, you better believe I will,” Lee had piped up at that, with a gentle kick to the shin. “More than one, if they'll have me.”) 

Cory blinked confusedly, clearly not making the connection. "Your tattoo artist is coming to rehearsal?" 

Richard nodded, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt uncomfortably. In hindsight, maybe it had been the wrong day to debut his tattoo in public, knowing that he would inevitably get questions. Not that he didn't want those questions - he very much did. He wasn't sure if his new colleagues had any suspicion about him - they hadn't been working together long enough to exchange the intimate details yet - but he had, perhaps unconsciously, hoped that the tattoo would serve as the perfect excuse to tell them about Lee. He didn't think of it as coming out so much as a necessary first step in a process that would culminate in him and Lee walking the red carpet hand in hand in a couple of months. That image had become an idée fixe in his mind, the goal to strive for, even more so after he'd seen Lee's eyes light up at the thought. 

He had not, however, prepared himself to have this conversation the minute he arrived, and with Cory of all people. 

Then again, if there was even the slightest chance that the kid did have a crush on him - laughable as that seemed, but he supposed stranger things had happened - the least he owed him was a quick but gentle letdown. 

"Well, Lee is actually my boyfriend, so - yeah. It's gonna be next to impossible to keep him away." 

The laugh accompanying these last words rang false. _Christ, Armitage, brilliant job there on the gentle letdown part. Very professional indeed._

"Oh. That's - I see." Cory recoiled almost unnoticeably and went a bit white, the look of hurt crossing his face confirming that yes, Richard was the biggest tosser in the history of the world. "Your boyfriend, right. I don't know why I thought - ah, never mind." 

Seeing Cory struggle for composure, Richard cursed himself for being such a tool and tried to do damage control. "Listen, Cory, I'm sorry, if anything I said or did made you think that I was interested -" 

He shut his mouth abruptly before any more insensitive crap spilled out and he made an even bigger asshole of himself than he already had. God, what a piss poor job he was doing of this. 

Cory had now gone from pale to an embarrassed pink. "No, it's fine. Really." He gave a forced smile that only served to exacerbate Richard's guilt. "I mean, look at you, you're gorgeous. And insanely talented to boot. Can't blame a guy for noticing, right? Should've known I didn't stand a chance, though." 

Richard sighed and glanced around to make sure their conversation was a private one - no need to make this more painful for the kid than it already was. "You're a great guy, Cory, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. But even if I wasn't old enough to be your dad - if I wasn't already in a happy relationship - I've made it a rule of thumb not to get involved with people I work with, and I would advise you to adopt the same rule. I'm here to do a job and do it well, and checking my personal life at the door helps me do that." 

Cory nodded adamantly. "Yeah, of course. You don't need to explain, Richard. You wouldn't have gotten this far if you weren't a consummate professional. I'm sorry if I came on a bit strong. I just - it's my first job and I'm just so fucking in awe of you, man. Have been ever since I saw _The Crucible_ , so sharing a stage with you is, like, thrilling and intimidating and a total mindflip. God, you must think me such a stupid, naive kid. And a bad flirt at that." 

"Far from it, Cory. If anyone is at fault here, it's me for not realizing what was happening sooner. Believe me, you're hardly the first young actor to experience these feelings - I would be lying if I said that I haven't had an inappropriate crush or two in my time - but I've wanted to be a part of a project like this for too long to put it at risk. I think you are talented and I like working with you, so as far as I'm concerned, we can keep this conversation between us and get on with the job. What do you say?" 

"That would be good," Cory quickly agreed, looking terrified at the thought that his little indiscretion might end up as fodder for gossip at the lunch table. "I'll put a lid on it from now on, I promise." 

The more he saw Cory squirm, the more of a fool Richard felt. Once upon a time - actually, it didn't feel like such a distant past at all even though it was half a lifetime ago - it really had been him in that situation, carrying a not so secret torch for Charlie, one of his fellow students at LAMDA who had played opposite him in an end-of-year production of Brecht's _Life of Galileo_. During rehearsals the tension between them on stage had been palpable (Richard had thought it was just in his head until other cast members started commenting on how well they acted off each other) until one incredibly ill-timed kiss made it all go to shit. After the final dress rehearsal, one or two people had instigated a spontaneous pub crawl and everyone had gotten plastered on beer and Scotch, including Richard, who had found himself in a back alley at 3 AM with Charlie's tongue shoved hungrily down his throat. 

The drunken makeout session had turned Richard's slumbering crush into a full-blown infatuation _and_ messed up their chemistry on stage in one fell swoop - on opening night they'd completely butchered their all-important first scene together and afterwards the director had reamed them both, ordering them to sort out whatever was going on and fast. For Charlie, this had meant loudly telling Richard to 'stop being such an obsessed little fag' in front of everyone (Richard opting not to point out that all of Charlie's backpedaling didn't change the fact that he'd felt the guy's hard cock pressed against his hip less than 48 hours ago) and proceeding to ostentatiously fool around with a girl he'd never shown an interest in before. It had quenched the flame of Richard's infatuation pretty effectively - internalized homophobia had never turned him on much - and even though they had completed the run of the play without further incidents, he had made a vow then and there to never make the mistake of mixing work and pleasure again. Remembering his own experiences at that age only made him hope all the more fervently that he hadn't inadvertently made things harder for Cory than they needed to be. 

"Damn, I feel bad for the kid," Lee mused aloud. "I can't imagine playing opposite you and having to keep a purely professional mindset throughout. If I were Cory, I would definitely struggle to keep my inappropriate thoughts in check." 

"Glad you're so sympathetic." Richard, who had been poking idly at his food for a while and barely eaten a few bites, put the plate away with a sigh only to have its place in his lap immediately filled by his 6'5" boyfriend. "I feel like I handled this all wrong. If I wasn't so goddamn clueless I would have picked up on the signs much sooner and nipped this thing in the bud before it got this far. Before I unwittingly gave him encouragement." 

"I know it was unpleasant, babe," Lee soothed, running his fingers through Richard's hair and gently rubbing his temples until the crease of self-blame between his brows eased. "But you've dealt with it now, and it's gonna be okay. I promise." 

"You don't know that, Lee." 

"I do, actually." Lee smiled, digging his fingers in a little more firmly and sliding them against the grain of Richard's hair, a sure way of making him purr with pleasure. "If you were able to pull it together after what that fucker Charlie did, Cory can do the same. If he is cut from the right cloth, he will even learn something from the experience." 

"I hope you're right," Richard conceded, but he was looking a whole lot less worried already as he put his hands on Lee's hips to drag him closer. "Don't stop," he instructed, referring to the impromptu head massage (they really were a miracle cure for a slew of ailments - grumpiness included - and Lee had mastered them to perfection). "And do try to wipe that gleeful smirk off your face." 

Lee pursed his lips in an attempt to obey. "I'm sorry, Rich. I think it's adorable you didn't pick up on what was happening right under your nose. Your modesty does you credit. And if you think it's okay, I think I'll drop by at the theatre in a couple days to see this boy for myself." He winked teasingly. "Gotta check out my competition, after all." 

For all his bravado, Lee felt nervous when he walked into the rehearsal area by Richard's side later that week. It was like walking into his past (the atmosphere in that room unsettlingly familiar, as if no fifteen years had passed since he was last part of an ensemble of actors working together on a project like this), which was disconcerting enough in and of itself, but coming face to face with one of his favorite stage directors blew even that out of the water. 

"Bryan," Richard called out, dragging a mortified Lee over to a tall, bearded man in a colorful plaid jacket and dark-rimmed glasses. "I want you to meet someone." His hand on the small of Lee's back applied gentle pressure, urging him forward. "This is Lee." 

The man's permanently grinning face lit up even more as he thrust out his hand and crushed Lee's in an enthusiastic grip. "Lee! Hi! Bryan Fuller!" 

"I know," Lee stammered, taken aback somewhat by the established director's larger than life energy. "Big fan of your work. Loved what you did with Wilde's _Lady Windermere_ , among many others - it was bold, brilliant." 

"Theatre lover?" 

Lee nodded, glanced at Richard, took a breath. "I went to Juilliard for a bit, actually. But these days I'm just on the audience side of things. Can't wait to see what you're doing with this, thanks for letting me peek behind the curtain today." 

"You're more than welcome, Lee, we're glad to have you. Just make yourself at home. Actually, now that you're here, there's something I'd like to run by you real quick. I assume you've seen the script?" 

Lee couldn't for the life of him imagine what Bryan Fuller of all people would want to get his opinion on, but he was definitely intrigued by the twinkle in the director's eye. He noticed that Bryan hadn't looked at his tattoos even once. He seemed like a personable, friendly guy, down to earth yet driven. Richard, who had not worked with him before, had commented more than once on the relaxed atmosphere of camaraderie and creativity he inspired in rehearsal. It was not a gift all directors possessed. 

He was also an openly gay man in a long-term relationship he'd never tried to brush under the carpet. He and his partner were frequently photographed at Broadway functions and red carpet events. It had not hindered him from reaching the top of Mt Olympus where many other, more norm-conforming directors had failed trying and ended in obscurity. 

"Parts of it," Lee truthfully replied. "I uh, may have twisted Richard's arm for a peek or two, but I don't want to be spoiled for opening night altogether." 

"Do you know how the play opens?" 

Lee nodded. "Like the novel does, with George waking up and getting out of bed, going about his morning routine." 

It was a daring move to open a play like that, with a silent scene that lasted several minutes and involved one actor performing a series of mundane and visually uninteresting tasks like flossing and shaving. Then again, that same actor getting out of bed stark naked was a sure way to grab the audience's attention right from the start. The nude scenes (yes, plural, because there was another one in the third act, a scene on the beach with Cory's character Kenny) were one of the reasons - if not the main reason - why having to give up on his twice-weekly gym visits filled Richard with chagrin. He openly admitted to being vain, but Lee knew that that vanity was really just insecurity in disguise. 

Bryan's grin grew even wider. "Exactly! So the audience gets to witness the whole transformation he goes through in the morning to become George, starting with the clothes. George is acting a part - the part society expects him to play - and the clothes help him do that. He doesn't simply get dressed in the mornings, he puts on a costume. That's how he views that whole morning ritual, as a series of unpleasant but necessary preparations to go on stage." He clearly relished talking about the scene. "Anyway - the costume department and I are having a bit of a scuffle over the underwear George puts on when he gets up. They want to put him in a pair of those period-appropriate, high-waisted white things, while I'm championing something a little more timeless and black, you know, _sexy_ \- I'm nothing if not an aestheticist - and Richard is too embarrassed to have an opinion at all." He patted Richard's shoulder sympathetically. "We've been taking votes all week but can't seem to reach a consensus. What do you think, Lee? Help us break the tie." 

Having listened to Bryan in mounting astonishment, Lee burst out laughing, delighted to discover that his idol was every bit as cheeky as one could hope for. "Well, I would have the see the items in question for myself to be sure, but I _can_ confirm that Richard looks amazing in black." 

"You're a man after my own heart, Lee." Bryan nodded sagely. "I have a cute little pair of black trunks in mind that I think you will like. Simple, sexy and short." 

"How short?" 

"Very. Remind me to show them to you later." 

Richard groaned. "Well, I think it's absolutely delightful that the two of you have found something to bond over, even if it is at my expense and that of my naked arse. But quite frankly, Lee, I thought this kind of objectification was beneath you." 

Lee bumped him teasingly, only just resisting the urge to slide his hand down and give the ass in question a surreptitious little squeeze. "I'm not sure why you'd say that, baby." 

After Bryan, Richard had proceeded to take Lee on a tour of the room and introduce him to the rest of the cast. Lee could feel Richard's hand resting lightly against the small of his back throughout most of it, a reassuring and anchoring touch intended to make Lee feel more comfortable in a situation he had at times found overwhelming in the past. 

"Doing okay?" Richard checked quietly between two handshakes, and Lee nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. They seem like a lovely bunch of people." 

The young man Lee had immediately pegged as Cory (not least because of the shock of thick, curly hair topping his head, meticulously gelled and ruffled by careful fingers) had hung back eyeing Lee surreptitiously until Richard waved him down for the introductions and there was nothing for it but to come forward and shake Lee's hand. If the kid - and he really was a kid, he still had spots of _acne_ , for crying out loud - was embarrassed at all, he hid it well, although Lee noticed him flustering slightly and staring at his tattoos like awestruck. Richard had made him promise not to torment the poor guy or say anything that would make this meeting more awkward than it needed to be, but when Lee caught Cory gawking at his arms temptation got the better of him. 

"So you're Cory," he said pleasantly, waiting for Cory's eyes to flick skittishly back up to his. "Fresh out of Juilliard and you're already working with the likes of Bryan Fuller - you hit the jackpot, kid." He paused, waiting for a response that didn't come, Cory clearly too intimidated to give so much as a nod. "Richard told me you're planning to get a tattoo - I’m not sure if you’ve decided where you’d like to go to get it done, but if you like my work I’d be more than happy to volunteer my services. If you want, we can have a sit down later and go through your ideas." 

"Oh - uh - thanks," Cory stammered, looking so startled that it was instantly clear he wasn't really interested in getting inked - he'd only pretended to be for the sake of flirting with Richard. The poor bugger couldn’t have known his words would come back to bite him in the ass like this. "I'm - I'm not in any hurry, though. My parents would probably flip. And I'm a bit short on cash at the moment, probably will be for a while. Actor's wage, you know, high rent and a small fortune in student loans that will drain my wallet for years to come." He laughed nervously. 

Lee could hear Richard give a small warning cough beside him, and spared a moment to send him a quick, reassuring glance he was sure Cory hadn't seen. "Hey, don't worry. I'll be the first one to tell you that a tattoo shouldn't be an impulse buy." He produced a small card to slip into Cory's hand. "Check out our website - it has an online portfolio of my work that you can browse. If or when you decide to move ahead with it, just drop by the shop anytime. I'll give you a friendly price." 

"That's... very kind," Cory said weakly. "Thank you." He didn't hang around a fraction longer than necessary, beating a quiet retreat the moment another one of Richard's colleagues claimed Lee's attention. 

"Don't give me that look," Lee said to Richard afterwards, somewhat defensively. "I went easy on the guy, didn't I?" 

"Could've fooled me," Richard smirked and lowered his voice. "To be fair to Cory, Lee, he didn't know I was in a relationship when he hit on me." 

"He could have bothered to ask," Lee muttered, even as he felt Richard's arm slide around his waist and squeeze slightly. He lifted his head up with a sigh. "Look, I guess I got a little jealous, okay? I admit it. He's a good-looking boy who clearly worships you and has that whole bright-eyed, youthful thing going for him, nothing like the jaded, phobic mess you've got to deal with now. I wish I was secure enough not to feel threatened, but I guess I'm not." 

"Well, you have every reason to be," Richard said earnestly. "Because I happen to love you the way you are, phobic mess or not, and I'm not going anywhere. Not a thousand Corys will change my mind about that, so trust me when I say that he isn't even close to being a threat to you. Nor is anyone else, for that matter." 

"I know - and I do trust you." Lee offered up an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Rich. I suppose part of me just sometimes still has trouble believing you're not embarrassed to introduce me to the people you work with." 

It was the first time he'd let this thought leave the privacy of his own mind, recalling an evening several years ago, when Luke had spotted one of his coworkers across the street as they were walking home from a romantic dinner and pulled his hand out of Lee's. It had happened in a split second reflex and he'd laughed it off later, but Lee had remembered. He still remembered today how he had felt knowing that the man he lived with was ashamed of the way he looked. Maybe it was irrational (no, not maybe, it  _was_ irrational) to think for a second that Richard would ever behave in the same way, but that didn’t stop those quiet, niggling doubts surfacing at unexpected moments - like when he was confronted with all of Richard’s new colleagues, his peers, and not least the God of Broadway, Bryan fucking Fuller. 

"Embarrassed? Love, try unimaginably proud." Richard pulled him closer still, reaching for his mouth, only to be stopped at the last moment. 

"Rich, it's okay. I'm fine, really." Lee smiled at him for emphasis, shaking his head reassuringly. "You don't have to kiss me in front of everyone to prove a point." 

"Actually I do," Richard murmured, cupping the back of Lee's head to pull him in the last few inches for a sweet kiss that sent a whirl of butterflies around Lee's stomach and left him wondering, long after Richard had gone into the dressing room to change, what he'd been making a fuss for in the first place. 

It was a thought he repeated verbatim to Fran the next day, by which time the whole Cory episode had become something to laugh and feel slightly embarrassed about. 

"So if this would lead you to conclude that Richard is an excellent kisser," he told Fran playfully, knowing without having to look that next to him Richard was rolling his eyes in mock exasperation, "you would be correct." 

"I will gladly take your word for it, Lee." Fran smiled. "And since you brought it up, how have things been on that front in general recently?" Her gaze was on Lee - perhaps because Lee had always been more comfortable talking about the intimate details - but to both of their astonishment, it was Richard who answered. 

"Really fucking spectacular," he blurted out unthinkingly, only to look mortified by his own lack of filter and blush profusely when Lee and Fran turned to stare at him simultaneously. "At least, uh, it has been from my perspective," he amended, stuttering and picking at an imaginary bit of lint on his pant leg. "I'll leave it to Lee to answer for himself." 

Lee grinned, privately entertaining himself for a moment wondering if right at this minute Richard, like him, was thinking of the other morning, when Lee had lazily fingered him within an inch of orgasm with deep, steady rotations of his wrist before letting him fall apart. Or maybe he'd cast his mind back to a few nights earlier, when he'd let Lee cross his wrists above his head and tie them to the bed - loosely enough that he could pull free if he wanted, which he didn't - before expertly massaging his cock and balls for twenty torturous minutes until strung-out groans and desperate gasps were the only sounds Richard could make as he convulsed violently and came all over his own stomach, almost blacking out in the process. 

"Well, I definitely don't disagree," Lee said, still grinning. "It's been going great. There are some things we avoid, obviously. I don't feel comfortable receiving yet, to name one thing, but there are other options that we've had fun exploring. I mean, we're two guys, so that's a perk right there, if you get my drift." 

Richard groaned behind the hand he'd brought up to cover his face. "Lee, I think the plant over by the door got your drift. I think it got it loud and clear." 

Fran just smiled, unperturbed. She was never anything but professional, and a good thing too - Lee didn't think Richard would have held out this long if she wasn't. "Well, having fun with it is very important," she said. "Fun is exactly what sex should be. I think I told you something to that effect the first time we talked, so I'm very pleased to hear it's being put into practice." 

"Oh, it is," Lee confirmed, while Richard showed no signs of reappearing from behind his hand. He was still blushing, an endearing trait Lee hoped he would never lose even if he lived to be a hundred. 

"So while we're on this subject," she said, putting her pen down after adding something to her notes, "do you have any questions to ask me or any particular things you want to talk about today?" 

Lee glanced at Richard, who finally reemerged to meet his gaze and nodded. "Actually yeah, we do." 

They'd both gotten tested for STDs and received their results in the mail the week before - they'd made a silly ceremony of opening the envelopes simultaneously, both feeling that the moment could do with a touch of lightness. But even though they were both in the clear - thank god - they were yet to do anything with that knowledge. 

"I see," Fran said when Lee paused, unsure how to continue. "And what is your question for me?" 

"We've been working towards these test results," Richard took over helpfully, summarizing the conversations they'd been having on the subject, "but now that we have them, we're not quite sure when to take the next step. It's... quite a momentous change, and I think we're both a little nervous. I for one have never done this before. It goes against everything I've been taught about sex - everything I promised my Mum when I was sixteen." He smiled sheepishly. 

"I know what you're going to say, though," Lee jumped in, preempting Fran's reply. "You're going to tell us not to force it and to let things happen at their own pace. Am I close?" 

"That's very impressive, Lee," Fran said, smiling. "I seem to have made myself redundant as your therapist. I would like to add, though, that it _is_ both a big change and a serious commitment, one you should only enter into if you're very, very sure of each other. Whether that is next week or next month or next year, is something only the two of you can decide. There is no cookie cutter answer to this question, I'm afraid." 

"But you're not advising against it?" Lee insisted. "You don't think we're reckless and stupid for even considering it?" 

"On the contrary, I think you're both to be commended for being as careful and putting as much thought into this as you are. Clearly you understand the risks and take them seriously, more so because of Lee's past experiences. But I _can_ tell you that it's a step lots of couples end up taking at some point, whether it's for kids or pleasure or intimacy, so you're far from alone. If you both want it, for the right reasons, and take the necessary precautions to keep yourselves and each other healthy and safe, then I see no reason why anyone but you should get a say, including myself." 

Afterwards, making their traditional stroll through Washington Square Park (sadly, the ice cream cart they'd been frequenting all summer was no longer there, so they'd switched to Starbucks instead), they went over the most important points covered during the session, pausing for a moment at the Garibaldi monument just like they had that first time. It - like the ice creams previously and now the cups of coffee with their names scrawled on them - had become a fixture on these walks. 

"You know we can take our time with this, right?" Richard said. "If you're having doubts, for whatever reason, we won't go ahead with it. It's as simple as that. And I won't be hurt or love you any less for changing your mind." 

"I know." Lee sipped his caramel macchiato pensively. "I haven't changed my mind, though. I do know that much." He felt a cold shiver pass down his spine in spite of the hot beverage warming his stomach. The weather had taken a sudden turn towards autumn these last few days and he noticed the first flecks of yellow in the green dome overhead. "I guess summer's really over, huh?" 

"Feels like it, yeah." Richard curled his arm around Lee's shoulder to share some of his warmth. "Do you want to go home, grab some takeout on the way and plunk our asses down on the couch? Or maybe a hot bath first? Or do you want to have takeout in the tub?" 

"Takeout in the tub?" Lee smirked at the mental image. "Babe, that's got to be one of the most decadent things you've ever suggested if not _the_ most decadent." 

"Well, I like to think I have an imaginative mind." 

"You do." Lee turned to face Richard and slowly unzipped the front of his jacket (one of his much-loved Belstaffs that looked so fucking sexy on him) to slip his free arm around his waist. "Come to think of it, we could always just skip all that and warm each other up in bed instead." 

Richard grinned and shook his head in disapproval (quite unconvincingly, it had to be said). "You know what? I think I'm going to like this season." 

In the frenzy of all that was going on in their lives - Jack and the aftermath of that bizarre night at the hospital, Richard's new play, the first wave of attention from the media, Cory, Lee clocking his regular hours at the shop and of course therapy - they had all but forgotten about Dean and his bid for human interest notoriety. Lee had not heard from Dean since he'd sent him the final draft for approval as per their agreement and assumed some sort of delay had occurred. He didn't know much about the world of publishing, but deadlines got pushed back all the time and maybe the story had been shelved to make way for something more sellable, like some reality star's new love interest or baby bump. Lee hadn't thought much of the lack of updates, figuring that if there was news, he would hear about it. 

So it was a bit of a surprise to say the least when Dean rang their doorbell early one Sunday morning - four weeks after their brief meeting at the hospital - excitedly claiming he had something to show them. They barely had time after buzzing him in to get themselves looking like he hadn't brutally interrupted a lovely, languorous morning makeout session in bed before he was pounding on their door and waving a glossy magazine in their confused faces. 

"It's going on sale tomorrow," he explained rushedly, tripping over his own words, "so don't show it to anyone before then, and if _People_ asks, I was never here." He grinned as he thrust the magazine into Lee's hands. "Pages 24 through 36. In all modesty, guys, it's amazing; something really special, just like we set out to achieve. Andy did a great job with the photos. I swear everything that guy touches turns to gold." 

When they asked him to come inside for a cup of coffee, he cheerfully declined. "Nah, just wanted to drop this off the minute I got my hands on it. I reckon you want to have your first look in private, so I'll be off. Let me know what you think of it, okay? And let's get together soon to celebrate - dinner or something. Yeah? Awesome. Say hi to the gang. Have a good day, you guys. Oh, and Rich - congratulations on your new gig. Terrific role for you, super excited to see it. You can bet I'll be hounding you for an exclusive interview before long." With a wink and a laugh, he left, raising his hand in a wave as he jogged down the hallway, leaving them to dazedly process the avalanche of words he'd poured out on them. 

The most logical thing to do would have been to flip to page 24 right then and there, but Lee could only stare at the front cover in bewilderment. It featured, of all things, a picture of the Pope front and center, and he wondered in a flash if that was good or bad news in terms of how well the issue would sell. All of a sudden the momentousness of what he held in his hands sank in. After he'd given Dean the interview - even after he'd read and approved the final draft - it had been easy to forget that his words - his life story - were going to be actually printed on page and distributed all over the country for people to read and talk about at the water cooler, and he felt a bit light-headed with the baffling reality of it. 

"Coffee," he croaked. "I need coffee." 

Richard had closed the door and gently steered him towards the kitchen, sitting him down at the table and proceeding to make two extra strong cups of coffee (he had by now mastered the basic functions of the new machine enough that he no longer needed Lee to supervise) while Lee stared at the closed magazine in front of him. "The Pope," he muttered incredulously. "I'm sharing an issue of _People_ magazine with the freaking Pope." 

"Just another day in the life, huh?" Richard responded gently as he put a steaming cup in front of Lee, who groaned and lowered his head onto his arms in misery. "It's not funny, Rich. As of tomorrow my stupid sob story is going to be up for grabs on shelves all over America. _And_ my stupid face along with it. What the hell was I thinking? I'm not that special." 

"I couldn't disagree more." Richard sat down, stroking Lee's messy hair and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Your story is valid and so were your reasons for sharing it. You're just having the jitters because it's here and it's about to get real. It's a perfectly normal reaction. And just for the record, your face is bloody gorgeous and I can't wait to see it in print. So - how about we take a look together?" 

"You do it," Lee insisted hoarsely, pushing the magazine across the table and pleading with Richard until he agreed to open it, skim the pages and describe what he saw. Meanwhile Lee took nervous sips of his coffee in hopes that the caffeine would boost his courage. 

"It's looking incredible, Lee," Richard said softly as he slowly flipped the pages. "The portrait pictures Andy took are eye catchers. Evie's is positively smoking." 

" _Hey_ ," Lee piped up indignantly, and Richard winked to indicate that he was teasing. Barely had he turned the page, however, or his mouth fell open on a gasp. "Oh my god, Lee - look." He folded the page back and held it up to show Lee his picture, the one Andy had had to work so hard to get. 

In it, Lee was looking off-camera. Perhaps not surprisingly, the editors had picked one of the pictures taken towards the end of the shoot, after Andy had encouraged Lee to focus on Richard rather than on the lens, but the readers would never know that. They would only see the fond, somewhat vulnerable look in his eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners and his genuine, unposed smile, and maybe wonder what - or who - that candidly tender expression was meant for. Like his smile, his body language was unaffected - his hands in his pockets, shoulders fractionally hunched, and yet the camera had captured the landscape of his torso flatteringly, almost lovingly. The phoenix, with its bright yellow, orange and red hues, looked especially stunning, its head and sharp beak clearly visible against the slope of his shoulder. The lines of the bird flattered his musculature - it had been designed that way - and it was only after a moment or two that Lee caught himself gaping, in awe of Andy's ability with the camera. 

He had felt so uncomfortable posing with his shirt off like that, and he had expected to cringe with embarrassment once he saw the result, knowing that it would be going nationwide. But this picture made his tattoos - his _body_ \- look amazing. "Christ, I can't believe that's me," he stammered. 

"Yeah, that's the same guy who barely dared to take his shirt off and let me look at him the first time we were together." Richard smiled fondly at the memory, eyes warm with pride. "I hope you are looking at this picture and realizing how far you've come, love. I hope you realize how brave you are." 

"For posing in the nude?" Lee gave a crooked smirk. 

"For sharing your story." Richard reached over and tapped Lee's chest with his fingers. "Sharing this. The inside and the out." 

Lee felt moist heat prick at his eyes and blinked a few times, swallowing heavily to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. Damn Richard for doing this every fucking time. "Read it," he instructed quietly, putting his cup down and twining his fingers together anxiously. "I don't need to, I already know the whole thing by heart. Just - read it and tell me what you think." 

He didn't know why he was nervous - it wasn't as if there was anything in there that Richard didn't already know. And yet he felt time slow to a crawl and his body grow twitchy as Richard did as he was asked and got immersed in Dean's writing - his descriptions of the shop, its colorful array of customers and most of all its crew. The guy had a good pen, and Lee had only made a handful of corrections and suggestions before sending the draft back and giving the okay. Some of the facts told in the article weren't pretty, but they were true, and yet somehow Dean had succeeded in crafting an uplifting story about hope, about survival and second chances. Lee could only pray that somewhere out there someone would benefit from it - that they hadn't done it all for nothing. 

From the moment Richard started reading, Lee's intention to let him read the whole thing without interruption lasted about thirty seconds if that, the thought going out the window the minute he saw Richard's face flush and break open into a grin of pure delight about something on the page. "What?" he demanded anxiously. "What does it say?" 

"Damn it, Lee," Richard said, still grinning even though there was a suspiciously bright shine in his eye. "Caught me off guard with this one." Without further explanation, he'd proceeded to read the passage in question out loud. 

_"Standing at a whopping 6'5" and covered in an abundance of tattoos he's accumulated over a period of fifteen years, Lee (34) does not at first glance have the appearance of a guy one would want to bump into in a dark alley. But if anyone proves that first impressions can be deceiving, it is this former drama student-turned-ink master extraordinaire, who moved from his home state in the south to enroll in a prestigious college at seventeen, only to find himself living on the street and addicted to pain medication two years later. It is an ordeal he talks about with a great deal of eloquence, self-reflection and openness. 'Of course I would like to go back sometimes and do things differently,' he admits frankly. 'It would have saved me a lot of time, tears and therapy. It's been hell at times and it's tempting to wonder where I would be today if I hadn't veered off course. But on the other hand, I like to think that my life turned out surprisingly fine the way it did. I love this job, I get to meet lots of interesting people, and most importantly of all I'm sober. My only vice is cigarettes and way too much coffee.' He follows the confession up with a grin and adds, 'I also got out of a dead-end relationship a few months ago and met someone new - a wonderful, supportive man who is the best thing to have happened to me in at least fifteen years. So the way I see it, I'm pretty damn lucky.'"_

From the expression Richard had on his face when he looked up, Lee could tell that the passage had struck a chord. "Did you really say that about me?" 

"Dean did some creative cutting and pasting, but yeah, I really said that." Lee smiled, reaching across the table to touch Richard's arm. "Don't tell me you're surprised, Rich. The fact that you're right up there with my Juilliard letter and meeting Ian shouldn't be news to you." 

"I guess not, but to see it in print like this - bloody hell." Richard stared at the page as if dumbfounded, falling silent for what seemed like a worryingly long time. 

"You don't mind?" Lee squeaked eventually, unsure what to make of Richard's response. Maybe he should have given Richard some kind of warning before springing it on him as a fait accompli. Maybe he should have told Dean to scratch that gratuitously soppy bit altogether (seeing as how it was hardly relevant to the story). Maybe - 

"Mind?" Richard cleared his throat and laughed infectiously, leaning across the table to kiss Lee's forehead, cheek and finally mouth, before pulling back slightly to twinkle at him mischievously. "You're really just a hopeless romantic at heart, aren't you?" 

Lee snorted. "Pot, meet kettle," he countered, reaching up to pull Richard back in purposefully and wheedling several more kisses out of him while the magazine was pushed aside - and even forgotten - for a few minutes. 

Lee spent the rest of that Sunday oscillating between excitement and disbelief, occasionally picking up the magazine to pore over the text and stare at Andy's incredible pictures. Aidan's personality and goofy grin jumped right off the page, and Evie looked stunning in hers - with her arms crossed in front of her chest to protect her modesty and her smoky eyes focused on the camera, she looked edgy and sexy in a surprisingly chic, high-fashion kind of way. The more Lee looked at the whole piece, the more pleased with it he was, and he messaged both Dean and Andy to let them know what an amazing job they'd done. 

The next day, it was Richard who checked the comments on the _People_ website after he came home (a trimmed-down teaser version of the article had been posted online) while Lee sat next to him on the couch anxiously awaiting the verdict and pestering him for details. He had been too nervous to go anywhere near the computer and iPad himself during the day while Richard was at the theatre. However the first response seemed to be positive - the story was being shared on social media and Richard read some of the most remarkable and touching comments (some of which were from people who had overcome a drug addiction themselves) to Lee, who was more than okay with being fed the information in small, manageable doses. 

There was also the added bonus of getting to listen to Richard read stuff out loud, which Lee was pretty sure he could do and enjoy all the livelong day. 

"Hey Lee, listen to this." Richard had stopped scrolling and smirked. "Some guy calling himself gaybear_uncut2984 thinks you're hot and wants to take you out on a date." He squinted at the screen. "Maybe you should go for it, he looks quite cute from what I can tell from his avatar." 

"You're pulling my leg, right?" Lee asked dubiously, only to have the iPad shoved in his face so he could see for himself. "Oh, Christ," he muttered, "what a disrespectful douche. The article clearly states I'm in a happy relationship, for crying out loud." 

"Can't blame a guy for trying." Richard appeared to have already clicked on the guy's profile page. "Are you sure you don't want to take him up on his offer? You could be passing up on true love here. He's a Scorpio and loves his mum, aww." 

"Cut it out, Armitage." 

"Well, just think it over. I'm gonna take a screencap just in case his comment gets removed. For posterity." 

"I said cut it out," Lee growled, tossing a pillow which Richard dodged by a hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he laughed. "Just pleased to see my boyfriend getting good press, is all." 

"Yeah, I think you're enjoying this a bit too much," Lee said, wrenching the iPad from Richard's hands and putting it out of reach as he proceeded to push Richard back into the pillows and climb on top of him, unable to resist mirroring his grin as he ground his hips down slowly. "No more screen time for you for the time being." 

In the week and a half that had passed since then, life at the shop had been a little crazy. The story had turned out to be a hit on social media, continuing to be shared and find new readership, especially after one or two extremely popular bloggers linked to it. And the comments still kept pouring in. Lee had eventually overcome his fear and taken to the threads himself, reading the stories of survival and loss that people were spontaneously sharing. And although he had no social media accounts himself, he was tempted more than once to change that and start interacting with these people. 

He knows that the interest will peter out eventually - probably a good thing, because he isn't made for the celebrity life and getting recognized around the Village is getting old pretty fast - but for now the story seems to do exactly what Dean had hoped it would. And to celebrate that, they're closing the shop early tonight to go out to dinner: the whole crew including Ian, Dean and Richard, who is coming to the shop straight from the theatre. Lee glances at the clock again, praying that Bryan will let the cast go home in time. "Did you close up yet?" he asks Evie distractedly. 

"Well, I was about to when your visitor showed up." 

"What visitor?" He'd already sent his last client of the day on their way. 

She rolls her eyes at him. "The one I told you about barely two minutes ago, dumbass. He's waiting for you at reception." 

Lee groans - he had completely forgotten about that. "Did you ask what he wants? He's not really here for an autograph, is he?" 

"No." Evie giggles. "I can't believe you fell for that. Nah, I was just fucking with your head a little bit. He says he's an old friend and wants to say hi." 

Lee pushes himself up from the chair with a sigh. "You're a minx, Eves, you know that?" She just makes a kissy face at him. "Did he give his name?" 

"Hang on." She stops him as he walks by her and slips her hand into his pocket to bum a piece of gum off him. "Open up. Gotta have nice breath for kissing your hot boyfriend later." 

He obediently opens his mouth to let her pop a piece of gum inside. "Richard has already seen and smelled me at my worst, Evie. Doesn't seem to deter him from sticking around." 

"Still. Minty kisses are much nicer." She smiles and gives his belly an affectionate rub, making him smile as well. 

"So... did you catch the guy's name or not?" he jogs her memory as he heads for the door. Whoever it is, he hopes he can make this quick. His mind is on the evening ahead, one he's been looking forward to all week - they have reservations at the best Japanese restaurant in the East Village - and as a result Evie's answer completely blindsides him, making him freeze up on the spot. 

"He said it's Eric."


	40. Mockingbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! Just in time for Christmas, too. This chapter fought me kicking and screaming, but it's finally here and I hope you guys will enjoy reading it more than I enjoyed writing it. :) Happy holidays, peace & love x Lin

The name elicits a shift - a shock akin to a powerful tremor in the earth that makes buildings crumble and tears asphalt to shreds. From one moment to the next, it is as if the ground has opened up into a yawning, black abyss threatening to swallow Lee whole, and he has to put a hand out to steady himself against the wall until the world recalibrates and the floor beneath his feet eventually solidifies. Behind him - her voice coming from what might as well be the other end of a tunnel - he can hear Evie worriedly saying his name, but in order to reassure her he would have to speak, and he finds he is too preoccupied with the expanding ball of pressure lodged painfully behind his sternum and the bitter taste of bile clawing at the back of his tongue to respond in a way that wouldn't result in him being violently sick.

_Eric._

It taunts the imagination that somewhere on the other side of this door - waiting, pacing impatiently perhaps, because waiting to be served in shops and restaurants had never been a talent of his - is the man whose memory he's been running from for the past decade and a half. Not in the literal sense (because for better or worse, New York is home; its streets are saturated with memories - some good, some unspeakably bad - and he's had to acknowledge a long time ago that he is too emotionally entwined with the city to ever seriously consider leaving and starting a new life elsewhere), but mentally, it is probably fair to say he has never truly stopped digging himself a hole to hide in, never found a place where he is completely safe from the ever-present ring of the past. It is like an itchy, scabby wound he can't stop picking at, one that's never had the chance to properly heal.

In terms of learning to accept what happened to him, he feels he has made more progress these past few months than he has in those fifteen years combined, but realistically, he knows that some of the emotional scars may never fade completely. And maybe that is okay - after all, they are as much and as integral a part of him as his tattoos, and like them they serve a purpose, reminding him every day to appreciate how good his life is now. Still, he has lost count of the number of therapists, Fran included, who over the years have suggested reaching out to Eric as a way to finally get some closure - a phrase he has heard so many times by now that it has ceased to have meaning. Sound advice he has always discarded as too hard, balking at the idea of picking up the phone to find out if Eric was even still alive (because for all he knew, his coke habit had spiraled further out of control and sent him to an early grave a long time ago). Even after all those years, Lee doubted he would ever find the courage to hit that dial button and stay on the line long enough to hear his rapist's voice, let alone have a conversation with the man and say the things he needed to say. Because the truth of it is that deep in his heart still festers the thorn of fear wedged in there when he was nineteen - fear for the manipulative, controlling bastard who took what little dignity Lee had left and crushed it like he had the right, carelessly and entirely without remorse.

And even now that the man himself is here, separated from him by nothing but a door and maybe a couple of feet, every muscle in his body has instantly prepared itself for flight while his panicked mind tries its hardest to convince him that he can pull off another escape, instructing him to avoid the dreaded confrontation in much the same way he has been for the past fifteen years: to make up some excuse to tell Evie, to sneak out the back exit of the shop and hightail it out of here before Eric spots him, to run and run and not stop running until the front door of his and Richard's apartment is safely shut, locked and bolted behind him.

Except - well, he knows what kind of man he's dealing with. Much as he would prefer to never have met Eric, he once lived with him for the better part of a year, long enough to have gained an understanding of the way the man's mind works and how relentlessly he pursues the things he wants. Hiding, tempting as it is, will only want to make Eric look for him harder and is a sure way of inviting more trouble down the line. The mental image of Eric arrogantly strolling into the shop for the sheer pleasure of startling Lee - knowing full well that there would likely be other people there to witness Lee's reaction - is sickening enough; but even that pales in comparison to the not unthinkable scenario of Eric tracking down his private address in Chelsea, ringing the doorbell and demanding to be let into the apartment. The very idea prompts a wave of nausea - the strongest one yet - and Lee is distantly aware of the fact that he has braced himself on the wall as though it's the only thing keeping him upright, his fingers digging painfully into the unyielding plaster like he's trying to claw right through it.

Evie in the meantime has moved closer and tucked herself under his other shoulder, gazing up at him in undisguised worry (no - anguish is a more accurate word for it) while rubbing tiny, careful circles on the small of his back, a repetitive motion that somehow anchors him. He can only imagine how bewildering his response must be for her; as close as they have grown to be over the years, she's never seen him lose his composure quite like this and is clearly at a loss as to why the name Eric would trigger such a strong reaction. Then again, only a handful of people in the world know its significance to him.

He would give just about anything to have one of them here this very minute.

The thought makes his phone burn in his pocket like a piece of hot coal, his fingers reaching down unconsciously to trace its reassuring shape through the fabric. All he has to do is pull it out, press the correct speed dial button and Richard will be there, maybe not physically but hearing his voice will be enough to make Lee feel better, make him feel _stronger_. Richard would know exactly what to say to remind Lee of what he can do when he just breathes and chooses fight instead of flight.

God knows how desperately he could use that reminder right about now.

But as much as he wants to - _needs_ to - he knows he can't yield to the near overwhelming urge to hit that button. Chances are Richard is being held up at the theatre. Lee knows from personal experience how these things work; dinner reservations or not, when the creative juices are flowing and actors and director are in the zone, nothing else takes precedence. If rehearsals are running late - which under Bryan Fuller's scepter is the norm rather than the exception - the last thing Richard needs is for Lee to call him in the middle of an anxiety attack, panicking about a situation he can do very little to fix. Then again, knowing Richard the way he does, there is a very real possibility he'd make his excuses to Bryan and promptly come running to Lee's aid without a thought of the consequences for himself, professionally or otherwise.

Even though the thought of Richard stepping through that door right now and offering the strength and security of his arms to hide away in sends a bolt of almost physical longing through his body, Lee knows he cannot put Richard in a situation where he would potentially have to put his dream role at risk for his sake. He cannot allow himself to be that selfish. So instead, to remind himself that he is not alone, he wraps his arm around Evie and pulls her close, thankful beyond words that she is here keeping him grounded just by holding him, much like Richard would do if he were here.

The irony in all this is - Eric's reappearance isn't entirely unexpected. The chance of Eric picking up the magazine somewhere down the line and opening it to find his picture was something Lee had thought about and discussed with Richard before eventually deciding to grant Dean the interview. As different as he may look at thirty-four from the way he did at nineteen, there was little doubt in Lee's mind that Eric would recognize him and be able to track him down with the clues provided in the article. (The name and location of the shop had already started circulating on the web a few days after the issue came out. A simple Google search would point anyone who took the time to look in the right direction.)

But even knowing that risk, Lee had made the decision to step out of obscurity - to stop hiding for the first time in fifteen years and let his story be put into print, not anonymously but with his name and face included. Part of him had believed, perhaps naively, that Eric wouldn't bother to seek him out. That he'd put the time he'd spent exploiting a beaten-down kid with a seemingly insurmountable addiction behind him and lost all interest. After all, fifteen years was a long time and for all he knew, Eric had driven to the nearest parking lot that same day to pick up a replacement. On the other hand, there was the fact that Lee had reclaimed his freedom by walking out, not only of his own volition - on his own terms - but with a decent handful of stolen cash to boot, and - well, it was more than likely that Eric was bearing a bit of a grudge because of it. He was not the type of man to forget an insult as easily as that.

(Over the years, Lee has tried never to ask himself what Eric might have done if he'd intercepted him during his escape fifteen years earlier, but that it would have been violent is beyond any doubt. For those two grand alone Eric would have beaten him within an inch of his life, and he could have done so unchallenged given how weakened Lee had been at the time. The fact that a skinny, malnourished, strung-out junkie had made it as far as he had was mostly due to the pure adrenaline and fear propelling him forward that day.)

In a way, the thought of Lee's past and present converging had seemed too bizarre to ever truly become reality, but now the man who made his life hell is here and Lee knows there is nothing for it but to go out there and face the music, whether he feels prepared or not. A pitiful groan - a primal, almost animalistic sound he doesn't recognize as coming from his own throat - escapes him involuntarily, prompting Evie to tighten her arms around his waist.

"Lee, hey. Sweetheart, it's okay. You're okay. Don't worry about it. I can go back and tell him now is not a good time. Just talk to me, please. Tell me what you need me to do. Do you want me to get rid of him? I'll kick his ass out if I have to."

"No, don't," Lee croaks, with a vehemence that surprises both of them. "I'll go and talk to him. I just - I need you to go out there with me, Eves. I don't think I can do this on my own."

"Of course I will," she promises, taking his hand and squeezing forcefully, almost painfully, a distraction he welcomes. "Who is he, Lee?" she asks him carefully. "Why is he here? Is he... an ex?"

Lee manages a watery, joyless laugh. Christ, how in the world is he going to answer that question delicately under circumstances like these? How will she react, knowing that he's kept the grimmest part of his past from her for as long as they've known each other?

"He - um. In a manner of speaking, I guess."

He can see his answer perplexes her, even though she tries to keep a neutral expression. He can't blame her; Eric must be in his early sixties by now, and Evie has doubtlessly been laboring under the impression that she knew about all of his exes. The appearance of this older man she has never heard of before - not to mention Lee's extreme response - must be throwing her for a bit of a loop to say the least. Still, she doesn't press him for an explanation, but the way she quietly gazes up at him as if trying to make sense of what he's saying almost makes him wish that she would.

"I'm sorry I never told you," he stammers, an embarrassed red crawling down his neck as he angles his face away. "It was a long time ago, Eves. I was careless and strung out on pills and lonely and Eric, well, he - he seemed nice enough, and -" Stumbling on the words, he curses himself for letting it come down to this - a clumsy rush job confession at the very last minute. He owed Evie better than that.

"When I tell you what I did, please, don't think less of me," he whimpers, hating how childlike and pitiful he sounds, but Evie just reaches up and gently cups his face between her hands, her expression a mix of stern and heart-meltingly sincere as she fixes him with a steady, unflinching gaze.

"Listen to me, Lee. If I have learned one thing, it's to not judge people by their mistakes but by their heart and character, and you are a good, kind man. One of the best there are, in my opinion. So if there is something I should know before going back out there with you, please tell me so I can help and support you the best I can. Because whatever it is, it won't change the fact that I think the world of you and always will."

As profoundly as her declaration moves him, Lee finds that her sweet words only make him feel like more of a shit for the bombshell he's about to drop on her. "You won't say that once I tell you about the vile things I let this guy do to me in exchange for a good high," he says bitterly. There really is no pretty way to put this. "Not once but for months on end."

By all rights, talking about these things should have gotten easier by now - god knows he's had to rake them up time and time again - but for some reason he can barely get the words out to Evie, his voice wobbling traitorously as he spins her the unsavory tale of how Eric came into his life and what happened in the months following. Thankfully, he doesn't have to spell it out or get into the minutiae of it. Evie is no delicate petal - she has been through her fair share of shit herself - and she gets the gist fairly quickly, her eyes filling with tears as she hugs him with renewed vigor and nestles her head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry you have to find out this way," he says miserably. "I've been in and out of therapy for this shit for the past decade and a half, but every time I think I've put it behind me, something happens to prove me wrong. I should have told you sooner, but I put it off, I don't know why. Maybe I didn't want you to look at me any differently."

"Oh shush, it doesn't matter." She sniffles and raises moist eyes to his face. "Does Richard know? Did Luke?"

He nods. "Luke sort of knew the gist of it. I never told him all the details and he seemed fine with that. Ian knows, too. I gave him a pretty hard time when he first approached me with a deal that seemed too good to be true. You know, older guy expressing an interest - the experience with Eric had made me suspicious of that type. But Richard is the first - first boyfriend, person, whatever - I spilled the whole story to, no holds barred. It was kinda brutal, actually. I still don't know what possessed me to blurt it all out like that, I think we'd barely been dating a week at that point. In a way I think I was probably testing him, giving him an out before either of us got too attached. Blindsided him a bit, but - he's been wonderful." He pauses to quietly reflect on the truth in this statement, heart swelling with such strong emotion that it takes his breath - and even his fear - away for a short moment. "I've never met anyone like him, Eves."

"Good." She dabs at her eyes, her fingers coming away smudged with mascara. "Not that I'm surprised to hear that, but it's good that he knows. God, Lee, and to think that I invited this - this _creep_ to make himself comfortable in our waiting area. I even handed him the magazines and offered him a cup of coffee, for fuck's sake. What do you wanna do? Should we call the police?"

Lee sighs and shakes his head. "No, no police if it can be helped. I'll go and have a chat with him. Much as I dread it, I put myself out there knowing this might happen, so I'm just gonna have to walk the walk, right? It's probably long overdue anyway - I know my therapist thinks so." He slowly leans away from the wall, waiting to lower his hand until he feels sure of his legs again. "I'm good," he reassures Evie, who is looking up at him in unwavering concern, her arms still wrapped around his waist. "Had a bit of a shock, that's all. I just want to go and get it over with so we can close up here and go have this fucking dinner I've been looking forward to all week. Bad enough that he had to show up at all, let alone today of all days. Christ, I didn't spend fifteen years working on my self-esteem and trying to come to terms with the abuse this asshole put me through just so he could waltz in and fuck it all up again like he did the first time."

The anger suddenly breaking through the surface is helpful, providing some welcome catharsis and pumping heady adrenaline through his veins. Evie notices the difference right away, nodding encouragingly and stretching herself to rub cheeks with him. "I'll be there the whole time," she reminds him softly. "You'll be fine, Lee. You're not the boy anymore that you were then, remember that, okay? You're in a much better place mentally and physically, you're clean as a whistle, and most importantly you're not alone. He can't hurt you anymore, sweetheart. He hasn't had that power for a long time, and if he thinks otherwise, he's got another thing coming."

Not entirely sure that her faith in him is justified, Lee grasps at the straw of confidence it gives him anyway and turns the door handle before he can think the better of it, taking Evie's hand as he pushes past fear and steps out of the relative safety of the office. He at once spots Aidan, who is at the reception desk cleaning up for the day and appears to be chatting amicably to someone Lee can only see a glimpse of, but that glimpse is enough to give him a shock of recognition and make his stomach lurch. He has to wait several long moments for it to settle, and he clutches at Evie's hand to make sure she's still there.

"Aidan," he croaks, clearing his throat to make his voice carry further. "Aidan, come here for a sec, would you?"

"Sure, what's up?" Failing to pick up on Lee's unusual tone, Aidan turns around, which puts the visitor in Lee's line of sight for the first time, taking away any lingering doubt in an instant. Granted, he has aged, and rather badly at that - Lee has yet to see a coke junkie age gracefully - but even with thinner hair and a considerably plumper waist Eric is still a man of somewhat intimidating stature. As his pale blue eyes meet Lee's across the room, Lee feels cold sweat breaking out along the length of his spine, the past fifteen years shriveling away like no time has passed at all since he last felt those eyes on him. It's a small blessing that he wasn't out front when Eric came into the shop - seeing him walk in without prior warning would probably have led to Lee marching right out the back door, throwing up somewhere on the patio from the shock of it (provided he made it that far) and, perhaps worst of all, giving Eric the satisfaction of knowing that he had rattled him. It is unsettling enough to have him here at all, showing up in a chapter of Lee's life where he does not belong, one where Lee is settled and safe and happy and surrounded by good people who he would trust with his life. The dovetailing is incongruous to say the least (even ignoring just how out of place the objectively straight-laced, middle-aged Eric looks in a tattoo parlor) and it sits, heavy and unsettling, in the pit of Lee’s stomach.

"Aid," he murmurs as Aidan struts up to him with a clueless smile, "where is Ian?"

"In the basement checking supplies," Aidan replies, taking his piece of gum out of his mouth and tossing it in the nearest bin. "God, I'm starving, and we're still two man short. Dean and Richard better hurry their asses over here. Nothing wrong with being fashionably late, but-"

"Do me a favor," Lee cuts in, as calmly as he can. "Go downstairs and get him. Tell him I need him up here."

"What for?" Apparently catching on to the fact that something isn't quite right, Aidan looks from Lee to Evie and back again. "Christ, you guys, did someone die? What's up with the long faces?"

"Just do it, Aid," Evie quietly insists, giving Aidan a particular look that seems to do the trick of spurring him into action, and thankfully, he goes without further argument or questions, sending the both of them a confused glance over his shoulder on the way out.

"Come on," Lee says under his breath as he slowly starts walking up to the reception and the man who is waiting there, grinning jovially at Lee like he's a long lost friend instead of the person responsible for putting Lee through months of absolute hell, misery and humiliation, not to mention the years he's since spent trying to clean up the mess. Years of believing that what happened to him was deserved, wondering what he could have done to prevent it, wishing he hadn't gone to that particular parking lot that day, hadn't approached the well-groomed man in the leather jacket, _hadn't gotten into that fucking car._

And now that same man has the fucking nerve to stand there - to boldly invade Lee's turf and grin as he's doing it, as if he can take away in an instant everything Lee has worked for, every grain of self-respect he's painstakingly managed to reclaim from the clutches of his addiction and the abuse. Halting at what he perceives to be a safe distance away, Lee vows that he will not give him the satisfaction of succeeding, and he unconsciously squares his shoulders and straightens his back to give himself the advantage of height. All the same, he feels a shudder of disgust rolling down his spine as Eric takes his time looking him over, eyes crawling up and down the length of his body inappropriately slowly. Folded up under one arm, Lee notices, is a copy of the magazine, permanently putting to rest any doubt as to how Eric picked up his trail after all this time.

Not that he really needed the confirmation. After the article, it was probably a question of not if but when Eric would show up on his doorstep, really. He just wishes he'd spent more time planning for this confrontation so he would have a few zingers ready to go; as it is, he finds himself woefully unprepared and tongue-tied, struggling not to revert to his nineteen-year-old mindset in the presence of the man he'd once been conditioned not to talk back to for fear of retaliation, which would always be swift and too often corporeal, if Eric was in a mood.

"Hello, Roy," Eric says, leaning on the counter with infuriating nonchalance. "Or should I say Lee? I'm a little confused about the name, but either way, it's a pleasure. You look well. Don't try to return the compliment, though, because I'll know you for a flatterer and a liar." He chuckles at his own joke, the sound falling flat in the otherwise quiet shop. "It's been... how many years now?"

Lee grits his teeth. Hearing Eric address him by his real name catches him unawares and makes his stomach roil in revulsion. The name had been one of the few pieces of himself that he'd managed to preserve throughout the whole ordeal, the only thing that was still safe and untarnished and _his_. Of all the decisions he made the day he first laid eyes on this man, withholding his name may just have been the only one that made sense. Not coincidentally, the day he reclaimed his freedom was also the day he became Lee Pace again; he never used the name Roy Walker - or any other alias - again after that.

"How can I help you?" By some unlikely miracle, Lee's voice comes out sounding stronger and calmer than he feels, only the faintest of tremors betraying the lie. He can see Eric's smile falter a little at his chilly response and takes a small amount of satisfaction from that. The message is clear: he will not stand for this man's manipulative games anymore. Not this time or ever again.

When Eric responds, however, his tone remains cordial. The man is no less a master of deception now than he was fifteen years ago. "What's this, Lee? Is that a way to greet an old friend? I thought you and I had more history than that." He taps the magazine pressed under his arm. "I had some time to kill at the airport a couple days ago and happened to pick this up out of sheer boredom. Imagine my surprise when I spotted a familiar face. Took me a minute to figure out it was you, though. You've changed quite a bit since the last time I saw you; you were such a skinny, gangly kid back then."

Although he does not consider himself to be a violent person at all, Lee can't help but reflect for a moment on how intensely satisfying it would be to punch the smirk off this guy's face. "What the fuck do you want?" he snarls, sickened by the fond tone of Eric's voice. Beside him, he feels Evie drawing a little closer. He senses no fear in her, however, only quiet, simmering rage directed at the man in front of them, and although she doesn't say a word he is just so fucking grateful to have her next to him for this. It makes him feel stronger, safer, and a whole lot less alone.

"Not in the mood for reminiscing, I take it. Did I catch you at a bad time? Do you have somewhere else you need to be?" Eric glances around the empty shop, eyebrow raised quizzically. "It would explain why this reportedly booming shop looks so dead on a Friday night. But all right - if you want to talk business, I'll skip the niceties and get right down to it."

Behind him, Lee can hear footsteps coming up the stairs from the basement, and he notices Eric's eyes shifting away from his face to see Aidan and Ian come in. Lee does not look back himself - he cannot afford to take his eyes off Eric, because doing so would be no wiser than taking one's eyes off a rattlesnake poised to attack.

It occurs to him, however, that Eric is in fact at a disadvantage here and that his cockiness is misplaced. He is on unfamiliar territory, first of all, and as accustomed as he may be to being in charge and having people carry out his orders on the work floor, that carefully cultivated white-collar authority carries no weight in this type of environment, where entirely different rules are at play. Eric is a suburban white picket fence crook; he knows absolutely nothing about the world he just arrogantly walked into, and judging by the way his brow furrows as Aidan and Ian appear - the latter impressively clad in the usual studded leather and motor regalia - he has just had a similar realization himself.

It is a trace of uncertainty only that passes over his face, but for Lee, it is enough to know that the odds have evened out considerably since he was nineteen and had to bend over backwards to stay in this tyrant's good graces, no matter what the cost. Some part of him will always wish he could go back and break the chain of events that led to him ending up in that situation, but he can't. He _can,_ however, take the chance that is now at his fingertips and avenge that sad, damaged kid in some small way. Because regardless of what happened in the past, here - today - it is not Eric but Lee who objectively holds the stronger position.

It is a thought that takes some getting used to.

"Perhaps it would be best if we talked in private," Eric suggests, "since the reason I came here is to discuss a delicate, ah, financial matter."

"I'm good right here, thanks." Lee can practically feel Ian's eyes boring into the back of his head and wishes there was some way to convey Eric's identity to him without actually having to say it out loud.

"Come on now, Lee, no need to be antagonistic," Eric says reasonably, holding up his hands. "I bear you no ill will at all, but I think you know we have a little debt of yours to settle. A private matter between you and me that no one else needs to listen in on, as far as I'm concerned."

"You bear me no ill will? That's rich." Lee laughs briefly and bitterly, flinching ever so slightly when he feels Ian's hand settle on his shoulder, but he doesn't shake it off. "Like I said, I'm good right here. Whatever you came here to say, you can say in front of my friends or not at all."

Eric is no longer smiling, irritation flickering across his brow in a way that suggests this meeting is not going the way he expected it to. Maybe he had counted on Lee being ripe for blackmail and intimidation - maybe he had thought that the mere threat of their history coming out would be enough to have Lee leap up to do his bidding, as it would have been fifteen years ago. Clearly, finding Lee surrounded by supportive friends and willing to deal with the past once and for all is not a scenario that has crossed his mind in the slightest.

But Eric wouldn't be Eric if he wasn't prepared to let the gloves come off.

"It's your choice, Lee." He shrugs. "I don't blame you for being a bit hostile, as I'm sure I remind you of a time in your life you're not too proud of. As I said, there are no hard feelings on my part for the way you chose to leave, and I'm glad to know you landed on your feet and are doing so well. Just give me the two grand you stole from me and we'll call it square, all right?"

Behind him, Lee can hear Aidan making a disbelieving little noise, clearly outraged by the accusation. Knowing how highly Aidan thinks of him, Lee is sorry for the disappointment he is inevitably going to cause. "I can't do that."

Eric chuckles. "What, a hard-working, successful guy like you doesn't have two thousand in the bank ready to go? All right, supposing I believe that - I will accept half the amount as a down payment now and you can pay me back the rest in installments, how's that for a gesture of good faith?"

"You're missing the point," Lee says calmly (or in as close an approximation of that as he can manage), "so let me rephrase. I'm not saying that I can't give you that money, I'm saying that I won't. Not a single penny of it. If anything, I think it's a reasonable reimbursement for what you did. More than reasonable, as a matter of fact."

His last words are punctuated by the shop door opening and a gust of outdoor noise floating in, and Lee's stomach drops as Richard and Dean come in, cheeks flushed from the autumn chill and hair fluffed by the wind. They make a somewhat raucous entrance, laughing about something Dean appears to have said a moment earlier, and it takes a moment for them to catch on to the tense atmosphere they've just unexpectedly walked into. As the door slowly closes behind them, they both halt to take in the scene, Dean's mouth hanging open almost comically on a greeting that never quite makes it out, while Richard seems to be putting two and two together the second he lays eyes on Eric, his expression darkening so astonishingly quickly that someone might as well have flicked a switch.

Eric doesn't seem to notice the death glare, his attention fully focused on Lee. "And what exactly did I do, other than take in and try to help a poor, destitute kid with a substance abuse problem who had nowhere to go? I did the best I could, Lee. When I saw you acting the beggar in that parking lot, I felt sorry for you. I could tell you were of better stock than that, so I decided to do my Christian duty, open my home to you and help you get off drugs. Slowly, little by little, I thought I could wean you off them. It was a naive plan, I'll admit to that. Once I realized just how strong a grip addiction had on you, I considered signing you up for treatment, but rehab isn't for everyone, and I thought you would consider it a betrayal. I've often wondered if I failed you - maybe I did - but I don't think I deserved to come home to find you gone without so much as a word and over two thousand of my hard-earned dollars missing. That was very ungrateful, Lee, and not just because of the stealing. Imagine my worry when you didn't come home that night."

"Oh my god, stop," Lee bursts out in disgust, unable to listen to any more of Eric's outrageous lies. Of course he would do this - of _course_ he would spin things so he comes out looking like the Good Samaritan in this scenario. A do-gooder who got played, taken advantage of and robbed blind by the young, selfish addict he was trying to save.

It does make for a good story. And damn if this pathological liar isn't bringing it convincingly, fixing Lee with an inscrutable, unwavering stare as though daring him to expose the lies, to spell out the ugly, unspeakable truth of what happened with everyone he cares about listening.

Clearly, Eric is confident that Lee won't have the guts.

"That is not what happened," Lee continues softly, the words coming out quavering and weaker than he would like. "You weren't the least bit interested in getting me clean. You fucking supported my habit if anything, gave me all the pills I asked for to keep me nice and sedate. I was nothing but a toy to you, a plaything to use and get high with and fuck whenever you felt like getting off." His voice breaks and he takes a deep breath, feeling Evie's hand slip into his discreetly. "You're disgusting. You're a sick bastard and a rapist, so no, you're not getting a damn cent."

That one word - _rapist_ \- slices through the tension-saturated air like a knife through butter, and during a brief, breathless moment everyone sees Eric's mask of calculated superiority slip just a bit. Aidan's head swivels in Lee's direction while Ian's hand tightens on his shoulder, making him realize how rigid his muscles are. In fact, his entire body is tensed-up and poised for - he isn't quite sure what. From the corner of his eye he notices that Richard is almost mirroring his pose, frozen in his spot by the door like a statue. Lee doesn't turn his head to see what expression is on his face, knowing that if he locks eyes with Richard now, he will crumble. Besides, he can make a pretty good guess.

"You're suggesting I forced myself on you?" Eric says, very slowly and quietly. "That's a slanderous, heinous accusation, especially coming from you. I understand how it might have looked from the outside, but you were there, you know what really happened. You were a lost, troubled kid, starving for some love and affection, and I - well, I wasn't exactly immune to your advances, I'll admit that much. I may have crossed a line of propriety I shouldn't have, but nothing ever happened between us that you didn't encourage or consent with, Roy."

"I never consented," Lee whispers, despairing at how effortlessly these lies keep rolling off Eric's lips. It does not escape his attention, however, that Eric just slipped up and used his street name by mistake, apparently without even realizing it. "It was always under duress, physically or emotionally. And I sure as hell never came on to you, you lying son of a bitch. I was nineteen, for fuck's sake, and all I cared about was being high so I didn't have to think about the pile of shit my life had become. Do you honestly think consent was involved when I let you put your disgusting hands on me, knowing I'd be out on my ass the minute I kicked up a fuss? God knows I would've been better off, even on the street, but I was too far out of it to know what was good for me or to stand up for myself."

"Better off as a vagrant? Surely you don't believe that." Eric sighs. "Come on now, let's keep this civil. I'm a pretty forgiving guy, and to an extent I'll even take responsibility for you grabbing those two grand and going on a binge. With an addict in the house, I probably shouldn't have had that much cash lying around to begin with. But these outrageous accusations need to stop. I genuinely cared for you, and I admit part of me dared to dream that you might return that affection in some way. It was flattering, a young boy like you giving an old queer like me the time of day. What I failed to realize was that addicts aren't capable of caring about anything but themselves. So if you were only sleeping with me for security and a roof over your head, that's fair enough and I don't hold that against you." There is a brief, uneasy pause. "But for you to turn around and shout sexual assault, when all I remember is the way you crawled into bed with me that first night and begged me to hold you? When all I ever wanted was to keep you alive and see you healthy and happy? That's just plain wrong, Roy. It's wrong and I don't deserve it. I was the only friend you had at the time."

" _Friend?_ " The word echoes bitter and laced with disgust. "You were never a friend to me, don't kid yourself. You just saw me as an easy prey, a pawn you could manipulate and use to act out all your twisted little fantasies. I would never have gotten into bed with you of my own free will if you hadn't bullied and coerced me into it, and I sure as hell never begged you for any of your so-called _affection_ , asshole. You treated me like dirt - you fucking _raped_ me - and yet you have the nerve to stand there and act like you're the wronged party in all this? Like you're somehow entitled to those measly two grand you came here to whine about when I've been dealing with this shit for fifteen years and paying through the nose for therapy just to repair some of the damage _you_ did? Well, fuck you. I'm not gonna let you intimidate me anymore, Eric. I'm sure that comes as a disappointment, but there it is. You're just a man, after all. A pathetic, lying, sick bastard who wouldn't know affection if it bit him in the ass, and if I had any fucks left to give, I might even feel sorry for you. Thanks for dropping by, though, it's been a very useful reminder if nothing else. Now get the fuck out before I call the cops, the shop is closed and you're not welcome here."

"I wouldn't threaten with the police if I were you." Eric shrugs. "I want to settle this peacefully, Roy, which is why I came here alone, hoping you'd listen to reason. But if you insist on calling the authorities spouting this nonsense about abuse and whatnot, I'll have no choice but to tell them about the money you stole. Between the two of us, ask yourself whose story they'd be more inclined to take seriously. I think you know the answer."

Lee swallows, the vise of fear tightening around his chest as he remembers - in painstaking detail - the countless times he's been misjudged, insulted and discriminated against by those in positions of authority because of the way he looks. He knows this time would be no different; even if Eric technically can't prove he took the money, Lee's history in drugs is well-documented and undeniable. And Eric, for all his shady connections and dabbling in recreational drugs, had always flown under the radar of law enforcement. He had a respectable, well-paying job at the US branch of a global human rights organization, he always drove nice cars, lived in a spacious house on a quiet suburban street, where people came out on Saturdays to manicure their lawns and wash their cars and no one ever asked inconveniencing questions. (Eric had told his neighbors at the time that Lee was a nephew who had fallen upon hard times and instructed Lee to back that story up if asked.) He always donated generously to charities and volunteered at the annual neighborhood fundraiser like some fucking boy scout, honing his reputation as an involved member of the community with no one being any the wiser. He was, for all intents and purposes, a highly functioning addict.

If, god forbid, it actually came down to his word against Eric's, who would ever believe Lee had been forced to stay at that house and do those vile things against his will when he'd had plenty of opportunities to walk out and left them unused until almost a year in? What person, who hadn't been in that situation themselves, could possibly begin to fathom what it had been like? And would his friends stand by him, considering he'd never mentioned Eric to them before today and hid the fact that he stole two thousand dollars, even from Ian? He is suddenly not so sure that they won't end up turning away from him in disappointment and disgust, a thought that makes his chest ache with preemptive despair. Instinctively he casts a glance over his shoulder at Ian, who has fixed Eric with a flinty-eyed stare and is looking extremely unimpressed with the proceedings.

"Besides," Eric goes on, "if you really had it so bad, I have to wonder why you didn't go to the police and report me as soon as you had the chance? Why grab those two grand and run instead, unless you knew you didn't have a leg to stand on in court? Tell me that, Roy. Better yet, tell your friends. I'm sure they are wondering the same thing."

"Don't even dignify that with a response, sweetie," Evie murmurs. Not unlike Ian, she is glaring daggers at Eric with an intensity Lee has rarely seen from her. It is unsettling and a relief at the same time. And then, addressing Eric, she says, "I don't know what made you think you could just walk in and start making threats to our friend like this, but you thought wrong. You've been asked to leave, so how about you take that suggestion and hit the road?"

"And his name is Lee," Aidan pipes up indignantly.

Eric gives Evie a long, dirty look, the corners of his mouth twisting derisively as his eyes linger on her piercings, her brightly-dyed braids. The nice guy persona he's been presenting until now is becoming harder to maintain as slowly but noticeably, his old traits are resurfacing one by one, his true colors starting to shine through for everyone in the room to see. "I'm not going anywhere without the money I'm owed, _miss_." Somehow, the objectively neutral word comes out sounding like the worst of insults. "And as I've been trying to make clear, that's a private matter between me and your friend. Or is it boyfriend?"

Lee feels Evie's hand twitch in his and tightens his fingers around hers protectively. Since her bad experiences with one of her former boyfriends, Evie has learned not to take crap from men talking down to her, and he is sure that she would have slapped Eric for his condescending tone were it not for his firm grip. Her indignant squeak is mostly lost when suddenly, Ian steps forward, hand outstretched.

"We haven't been properly introduced, I don't think," he says calmly yet authoritatively. He may not be of particularly tall or broad build, but a man with his tattoos and black leather getup cuts an intimidating figure to most people. "Ian McKellen, the owner of this shop." He lifts his eyebrows and allows an expectant silence to descend, giving Eric little choice but to reciprocate, albeit reluctantly and with not the slightest pretense of civility.

"Eric Werner." From the way he is scowling at Ian's extended hand, Lee can tell that he doesn't want to take it, but refusing Ian the courtesy seems to appeal even less.

" _Ian_ ," Evie hisses reproachfully, in clear disapproval of what Ian is doing, but he ignores her.

"Well, Mr. Werner," Ian says, crossing his arms, "you ask a fair question, so let me counter it with one of my own. If it is true Lee swindled you out of two grand, why didn't _you_ go to the police to report the theft like any normal person would? Because that sure suggests to me that there was something unsavory going on that you didn't want the authorities to find out about."

Eric shrugs. "Because I cared and worried about him and didn't want to get him in trouble, even after he stole from me? I hoped he'd see the error of his ways and come home once the money ran out - he would still have been welcome."

To hear Eric refer to his house of horrors as 'home' - a word that has become especially significant to Lee, who can count on the fingers of one hand the number of places he's ever called by that moniker - sets Lee's teeth on edge, and it is all he can do not to spit in Eric's face then and there.

"Right," Ian says slowly, and this time there is no mistaking his skeptical tone. "So then, if you cared about his safety and wellbeing as much as you claim you did, surely you reported him missing after he disappeared from your house without a trace? Did you call shelters, hospitals? Have you ever tried tracking down his parents, at _any_ point, to let them know he was staying with you to begin with? It's easy enough to stand here proclaiming you had his best interests at heart, but I'm curious as to what exactly you did to actually help him get better, other than taking him off the streets and sticking him in your house like a pet. Because from the state he was in when I met him, knowing that he would rather take to the streets again than stay at your place, I'm guessing it wasn't the warm and welcoming home you're making it out to be."

Eric gives him a sour look. "For your information, I drove all over town looking for him for over two weeks. I talked to every bum I could find, left pamphlets, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Hoped he'd find his way back on his own eventually, but when he didn't, I figured he'd found a new sugar daddy to leech off of. I'm guessing that was you." He pauses and gives Ian a knowing smirk, as if to suggest they're kindred spirits. "Not judging, mind. He was a beautiful boy with a luscious mouth, among other fine assets, and I fell into the same trap of seduction, after all. Youth and beauty are an intoxicating blend, hard to resist for men of a certain age such as ourselves. How much money has he managed to squeeze out of you, huh?"

Lee hadn't thought Ian's tone could get even more chilly, but he was wrong. "Lee never asked me for a single dime - he's always earned his way by working hard for it. And I consider the money I paid to get him through rehab the soundest investment I ever made. Even if you did have the best intentions by taking him in - which I don't buy for a second, by the way - you did him no favors by mollycoddling him. Weaning him off drugs? Please, that's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard. What Lee needed was a solid rehabilitation program and a purpose, a chance to develop and apply his talent."

"And you're saying that's what he got in _this_ place?" The friendly veneer disguising Eric's disdain is crumbling at a rapid pace, a sure sign that Ian is ruffling his feathers. He sends a disparaging look around the shop, taking it all in with a sneer. "I mean, for all the superlatives spouted in that gushy article, a lifelong dream come true this place ain't. Quite a far cry from the bright lights of Broadway, isn't it, Roy?"

Aidan bristles. "His name is _Lee_."

Eric pays him no attention at all, eyes narrowing as he fixes Lee with a piercing gaze and cruelly twists the knife of mockery in deeper. "What do Mom and Dad think of all this, huh? They paid out of their asses to send you to that prestigious school, and you couldn't do better than this - slaving in anonymity, in some back alley tattoo shop, for a pittance. I'm sure they're real proud of what you've accomplished. And by the way, whoever told you that you could pull off these tattoos should be shot. You were a cute boy when I met you, if not a bit gaunt, but now - look at you. You look like white trailer trash." Scowling at Lee's ink, he reaches out unexpectedly, his fingertips grazing Lee's forearm just before Lee recoils in disgust and jerks his arm away.

" _No_ ," he says sharply, skin crawling where Eric touched it, "keep your fucking hands off-"

Almost in that exact moment, there is a flash of movement near the door, Lee's exclamation sticking in his throat when he notices a tall figure in dark jeans and a leather jacket striding up to Eric from behind and grabbing him by the shoulder, the other hand curling into a white-knuckled fist as his arm swings back. There is a startled, high-pitched squeak of warning that may or may not have come from Dean.

"Richard, _don't_ -"

Caught unprepared for the bedlam touching Lee has unleashed, Eric barely has time to fully turn around to see what's coming before he's struck in the jaw, a single blow sudden and forceful enough that it elicits a cry of pain and the impact sends him staggering backwards. As he trips and loses his balance, he instinctively tries to reach for the counter for support but fails to find purchase, and before all of their eyes Eric goes sprawling, his body hitting the linoleum floor with a dull thud that makes Lee feel slightly sick, the impact resonating in his own stomach albeit not out of sympathy.

There is a shocked silence (punctuated only by Eric's pained muttering and moaning), although no one looks particularly sorry to see Eric in this position and most of the surprise seems due to the fact that it was, of all people, Richard who swooped in and clocked the guy like he isn't the gentlest, least violent person any of them have ever met. Richard himself looks equal parts startled and perplexed at losing his composure like that (for a senior citizen, Eric is not a particularly frail man, but physically he is no match for Richard) as he towers over Eric's prostrate body, palpable but now-restrained rage pulsing off of him like heat off a furnace. "You don't touch him," he says, unsettlingly quietly. "Get that? You don't touch him ever again."

Glowering up at him, Eric tentatively touches his face and prods his nose, even though Richard's fist didn't go anywhere near it. A reddish blotch that has the makings of an impressive bruise is blooming on his jaw. "Let me guess, you're the boyfriend," he drawls, even now managing to sound haughty. "Been wondering if I'd have the pleasure to make your acquaintance. Couldn't do the polite thing and shake a guy's hand at least before pummeling him into the middle of next week?"

It is a strange joke made under the strangest of circumstances, and no one cracks so much as a smile. No one but Lee, who surprises friend and foe - not least himself - by suddenly bursting out laughing at the sight of Eric on the floor, his pride no doubt hurting more than his face is. It keeps bubbling up inside him and he has no choice but to let it out - boisterous, uproarious laughter that rings out inappropriately loud and is in stark contrast to the solemn faces surrounding him, gaping at him like he's gone positively insane. But he finds it is like a sneeze reflex: spontaneous, unstoppable and intensely liberating. And as he stands there doubling over and guffawing like an idiot while Eric's face darkens more with every new surge of laughter, he is reminded of a movie scene he's seen years ago, explaining there isn't a better way to get rid of a boogeyman than by laughing at it. There may just be more truth in that folkloristic tidbit than he would ever have suspected.

Seeing that no one is going to volunteer to lend him a hand, Eric struggles to his feet somewhat stiffly, still cradling his jaw in his hand. "You caught me by surprise that time," he warns Richard, "but try that again and I'll have my lawyer in here faster than you can blink, macho man. Your precious boyfriend is not worth risking a lawsuit for, I can tell you that much." He nods in Lee's direction, mouth contorted in a grimace of malicious enjoyment. "He's damaged goods, you know that, right? There isn't much the two of you can do in bed that I haven't done with him first. I sure hope he's more responsive with you than he was back then, though. It was hard work sometimes getting him to purr like a cat in heat, but when he did, god, he was a good fuck."

Ian reaches a hand out to put on Richard's arm to keep him from lunging at Eric a second time, but despite Eric's taunts Richard seems to have himself back under control, some of the tension having drained from his shoulders at the sound of Lee's laughter. "I think it's time for you to leave now," Ian informs him icily.

"And I've already told you, the only way I'm leaving is with my money," Eric shoots back. "Otherwise I'll be making a beeline for the nearest police station and have the cops turn this place over. I'm sure some interesting skeletons will come falling out of your closets if we rattle 'em hard enough - with the type of people working and passing through here, it can't be the Valhalla of wholesomeness you're all making it out to be."

"As a matter of fact," Ian says drily, "some of the guys in the force are regular clients of ours, and I don't think the contents of our closet have ever given them any cause for concern. But if some cold hard cash is what it takes to get you out of Lee's life once and for all, then I guess we can come to an agreement here."

At this, Lee - who has recovered from his laughing fit but is still basking in its therapeutic effect - swivels his head around to gape at Ian in bewilderment. He opens his mouth to protest, but before he can do so, Ian gives him a brief look in return that says, _trust me_. And he does trust Ian - unconditionally - so he shuts it again.

"Evangeline," Ian says slowly while not taking his eyes off Eric, "I would like you to go into the office and take... what was the amount, Lee?"

The answer to that question is one Lee could give in his sleep. Eric, on the other hand, probably couldn't name the precise amount if his life depended on it. "Two thousand one hundred sixty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents."

"Okay. Get that exact sum - not a penny more - from the safe, put it in an envelope and bring it here along with a receipt book, will you?"

"I'm sorry, Ian, I can't," Evie whispers apologetically as she clutches at Lee's hand all the more tightly, a wordless reminder that she has no intention of leaving his side. "I made a promise."

"I'll go," Aidan blurts helpfully. It garners him a grateful look from Evie. "Uh, I mean... if I'm allowed?"

Aidan had never opened the safe and handled its contents unsupervised before. It had more to do with the fact that he was an apprentice than with his history in petty crime, although his probation officer had visited the shop in the beginning to establish whether it was an appropriate work environment for him and made a point of asking Ian if Aidan would be operating the register. That was a while ago, however, and Ian had never had any concerns in regards to Aidan's trustworthiness.

"Yes, Aidan, go," Ian says, and Aidan darts off with the small key Evie hastily digs up and tosses at him, while a silence that is nothing short of uncomfortable descends among those staying behind. Aidan really is a good kid, Lee ruminates fondly, and he makes a mental note then and there to soon have that chat with Ian he promised to Evie eons ago and arm-wrestle him into giving the both of them the raise they deserve. He has no excuse for putting it off for as long as he has.

"So," Ian resumes, giving them all a blessed and incredibly welcome reprieve from the thunderous silence as they wait for Aidan to come back, "Werner's the name, correct? What kind of work do you do?"

Eric gives him a condescending look. "What's it to you?"

"He's a finance guy," Lee replies instead, beyond caring at this point as to how Eric will react. "Big shot in his field. He was at Amnesty fifteen years ago and he seemed pretty comfortable there. Good pay, loved the lifestyle that came with it, too. You'd be surprised how profitable nonprofit can be if you're sitting on the right chair. Isn't that right, Eric? God knows you made plenty to support an addiction to coke and sex without your superiors being any the wiser."

"Shut your ungrateful mouth," Eric snarls at him. The longer the conversation goes on, the more frustrated he seems to become with the fact that his threats and scare tactics are falling short of their desired goal (which, Lee suspects, has more to do with a perverse pleasure in intimidation than with the money). "Need I remind you that the paycheck I brought home covered your meals, clothes and pills for almost a year of your life? You were costly company to keep, and quite frankly not worth the trouble. I've had prettier boys since then that put out for much less."

"Alright," Ian interjects, raising his hand but keeping his voice admirably level. "That's enough of you spouting filth and disrespecting my staff. I've been playing nice so far but make no mistake, after today I don't want to see your face pop up anywhere near this shop or find out you've been bothering Lee in any way. Do we understand one another?"

Eric shrugs. "Once I have what I came for, I'll have no reason to, will I?"

Thankfully, Aidan returns soon after that with the requested envelope. Ignoring Eric's eagerly outstretched hand, he hands it over to Ian instead, who then proceeds to count its contents out visibly until the entire amount is laid out on the counter in mostly one hundred-dollar bills and a handful of coins. Two thousand isn't a trifle by any standards - for Lee, it once meant the difference between sleeping under a bridge in the cold and a comfortable hotel room with a soft bed, mini fridge and en suite bathroom - but in cash it seems almost laughably insignificant. Looking at the faces around him, Lee gets the feeling that his friends are thinking similar thoughts. The only one ogling the money with actual greed in his eyes is Eric.

This strikes Lee as uncharacteristic and more than a little odd. The Eric he once knew always seemed to have money to spare and could afford the luxury of acting nonchalant about it. That Eric would have considered two grand pocket change, beneath his dignity almost. Something about this sudden obsession with money is decidedly off.

"Right, so here's how we're gonna settle this," Ian explains as he scoops up the money and tucks it back into the envelope. "I'm going to ask Lee to name an amount he feels comfortable parting with as a symbolic repayment. An olive branch, if you will. This amount is nonnegotiable; you take it or you don't, but either way whatever debt you think he owes you is paid today, in full, no police or lawyers involved. Not that we don't believe Lee unconditionally - because we do, and we've all heard enough out of your mouth today to know that what he's saying about you is the ugly truth - but we don't want to see him dragged through the courts and forced to relive the whole experience only for the case to inevitably get dropped due to lack of evidence. And for all your bluff I don't think you want to take things that far either, Werner. If you did, you would have taken steps fifteen years ago, but I think you know that even without a verdict, having your name tied to a rape case can follow you around for a long time, and quite frankly, you don't strike me as a guy who deals with public scrutiny well. Do the people you work with and live next to even know you're queer? Because I can promise you that the media would be having a field day with a juicy scandal like this, including our esteemed reporter over there - isn't that right, Dean?"

Dean - who hasn't moved from his spot by the door and has been so quiet up till now that Lee had almost forgotten he is still there - acknowledges Ian's words with a brief but emphatic nod and returns Eric's stare with an icy cold one of his own. Contrary to what Lee would once have expected, he seems to be feeling uncomfortable and out of place, keenly aware of the fact that he's walked into a conversation that was not meant for his ears. But Lee can't bring himself to care about his secret being out to all in this room - they are his friends, and he is sure now that they will still be his friends come tomorrow.

But Ian isn't done laying down the law yet (and damn if Lee isn't more than happy to let Ian take the reins on this one, relishing watching the way Eric's face gradually crumbles into an expression of utter dismay). "So that's the deal. You get to walk out with your freedom, your unsoiled reputation and a sum Lee thinks appropriate, if you're smart enough to take it. There will be no contacting the authorities, because if you do, you can be sure we'll be very emphatic about the truth of what we witnessed here today, both in court and in the media. And just in case that doesn't dissuade you, Werner, I have a personal promise to make as well. If I so much as hear whispers about you trying to contact Lee or causing trouble in any way, you won't have the luck of escaping with just one bruise. I've got buddies at the Hells Angels who know exactly what to do with types like you. And trust me when I say that they're a lot less gentlemanly than our class act Richard here."

The thought of being paid a visit by an outlaw gang of bikers drains the last of the color from Eric's face, and Lee has to bite his lip to keep from chortling loudly and unapologetically with schadenfreude. If this were anyone else, he might feel guilty about the impulse, but he would be lying if he said that watching Eric quail doesn't give him a petty sense of pleasure. Before today, the thought of being able to crack a genuine smile - let alone laugh - in this man's presence would have been laughable itself, but somewhere in the last few minutes, the tables have turned, and now he just wants to giggle and do cartwheels like a joyful child because it is such a goddamn relief to let all that old resentment go. For the first time in all those years, he is able to see Eric for what he is - and it doesn't scare him at all.

Clearly ticked off by his inexplicable failure to bring Lee to heel, and acknowledging that Ian is too big a dog for him, Eric refocuses his attention on Lee. "Such charming company you keep, Roy," he scoffs contemptuously. "Lovely bunch of misfits right here. A little tramp like you fits right in with a crowd like this."

Lee shrugs the insults off. "Yeah, we're a regular freak show. This is the East Village, didn't you know? I'll share some wisdom with you, though - something I learned from my panhandling days. If you're going to walk up to people and ask them for money, a smile and some flattery will get you a lot further. Honey, Eric, not vinegar. May wanna give it a try." Everyone - well, mostly Aidan - bursts out laughing, and Lee grins before sharpening his tone. "And for the last time, it's Lee. Lee Grinner Pace from Chickasha, Oklahoma. That's my name, will you at least do me the fucking courtesy of using it?"

There is a sudden but staggering change in Eric then, something seeming to break in him as he abandons all superiority and begins to explain, in halting sentences, that he lost his job over a year ago and has been struggling to make ends meet. "Please, Lee, I'm at my wits' end," he begs, striking an entirely different tone than before, "I stand to lose everything, even the house. You know what being penniless is like. These two thousand will get me through another couple months, at least."

Eric's plea, in and of itself, seems almost startlingly sincere, but Lee has no use for any sob stories from this man. "I really don't give a shit," he interjects harshly. "Quite frankly I'm surprised you lasted as long in that job as you did. It does explain, though, why you went to all this trouble for a couple grand. All that coke and paid sex doesn't come cheap, right?" Seeing no point in degrading Eric any more than necessary, he turns to look at Ian, who still has the money and appears to be calmly waiting for Lee's instructions. "Go ahead, Ian. Give him the envelope."

Behind Ian, he can see Aidan's eyes widening in disbelief. Even Eric seems surprised by this unexpected change of heart, but Ian just nods, something most closely resembling paternal pride warming his eyes. "If you're sure, my boy."

"I am." Lee nods, his voice strong, carried by the knowledge that he has made the right decision. He had thought that giving Eric the money would feel like a defeat, but somewhere over the course of the last few minutes he has realized that nothing could be farther from the truth. The money is ultimately not important, nothing to feel bitter or resentful about; what matters is that Lee can stand here and face his former tormentor without cowering and walk away from this much-dreaded meeting in the certainty that he will never have to fear him again. That is the true victory he is taking away from this, and it is infinitely more valuable than the petty stack of cash in Ian's hands. "He's welcome to it, actually. Much good may it do him."

"Thank you," Eric mutters, "thank you, Lee, I knew you'd come around and be reasonable, we all make mistakes and I truly meant the best-"

"Oh, save it," Lee cuts him off. At this point he doesn't even feel disgust anymore, just weariness. "Just take the damn money and go. Frankly, I don't know where you get off acting all superior and insulting me and my friends when I'm not the one so desperate for a fix that I have to go around blackmailing people for money." He has noticed Eric getting increasingly twitchy and agitated throughout, symptoms he has no difficulty recognizing as those of an addict going into withdrawal. "A parting word of advice: use the two grand to check yourself into rehab, get sober. Biggest favor you'll ever do yourself, take it from me."

Eric makes no comment - then again, Lee wasn't really expecting him to - and the handover is arranged quickly and efficiently, Ian insisting that Eric sign a receipt for the amount before handing the envelope over.

"And now we shake on it," he says, holding his hand out with such authority that Eric can't possibly ignore it or refuse, but it is only with the greatest reluctance that he offers his own hand, looking like he'd rather chew off his own fingers than entrust them to Ian, who has had his most intimidating face on for most of this and really, Lee can't blame Eric for looking like he's about to do a runner. "Let's make sure we don't meet again. Because if we do, I guarantee it won't be such a friendly encounter. Remember my promises - I'll be doing the same thing." He holds Eric's hand for an uncomfortably long time, refusing to let Eric squirm free. "Now how about you give Lee a nice little apology before you go? And make it genuine."

To Lee's surprise, Eric doesn't argue but meekly complies. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, almost inaudibly.

" _Genuine_ , I said." Ian does not look too pleased with having to repeat the instruction. "Look at him and try again."

With a look of resentment at Ian (who couldn't be less impressed), Eric finally lifts his gaze up to meet Lee's flinchingly. "I'm sorry." The words are forced out through gritted teeth, but for Lee, even this grudgingly made apology is the icing on the cake of what has already been a tremendously liberating experience. He didn't strictly need it, but it tastes really damn good.

"Better." Ian finally lets Eric's hand go. It comes away looking somewhat rumpled from the pressure. "I trust you'll find your way out."

Eric wastes no time in scurrying off - no doubt to the first dealer he can find - tucking the envelope in his inside pocket as he makes a beeline for the door only to find Dean in his path. Dean doesn't give him an inch - and the look on his face would dissuade anyone from asking him the favor of moving aside - so it is Eric who ends up having to sidestep and go around him, not neglecting to shoot Dean a dirty look on the way out. He ducks into his jacket and glances around furtively before crossing the street at a trot and disappearing behind a passing delivery truck.

It is also Dean who takes it upon himself to lock the door behind Eric and turn the sign around from _open_ to _closed_ , the gratifying click of the latch sliding into place the most welcome sound Lee has heard all day. Beside him, he can hear Evie breathing out a tremulous sigh as she wraps her thin arms around his waist and hugs him like she will never let go.

"It's okay, lily bud," he soothes, kissing the top of her head and squeezing her reassuringly even as he feels the adrenaline slowly begin to subside. His heart is still galloping wildly inside his chest, however, and probably will be for a while. "It's over. I'm fine, really." He catches Ian's eye and gives his old friend a grateful nod. "Ian, I don't know what to say. Thank you. I will pay you back, I promise. Every dollar and cent."

He wants to profess more of his gratitude to this man, voice breaking a bit as he searches for the words, but thankfully Ian seems to sense where this is headed and cuts him off before he makes an ass out of himself. "You'll not pay me a single penny, Lee," he grunts, eyes strangely bright as he abruptly turns away and runs the flat of his hand over the counter as if dusting it off. "And that's the end of it."

It is most definitely not the end of it, but Lee decides that this is a debate for another day as he notices Aidan looking a bit wrecked, chin tipped down and mouth quivering suspiciously. "Damn, Aid, not you too," he chides gently, reaching out to ruffle Aidan's curls and squeeze the nape of his neck, surprised when Aidan unexpectedly gives him a clumsy but heartfelt hug of his own.

"It's okay, Aid," he tells him softly, reassurances spilling from his lips at random. "I'm okay. I know this is a shock. It was a long time ago. I'm sorry I never told you."

"Why did you change your mind about giving him the money?" Aidan asks, voice muffled. "You didn't have to. The guy's clearly a coward. I thought he was going to piss his pants when Ian mentioned the Hells Angels. And by the way, Ian, you an Angel? I don't buy that even for a second."

Ian smiles beatifically. "Eric sure did, though, didn't he?"

Lee chuckles, some of the others chiming in a moment later. "I'm not sure I can explain it, Aid," he says candidly. "I just know that I am feeling about a thousand pounds lighter right now. I wasn't holding on to the money so much as I was clinging to all that old resentment and hurt, and I feel a whole lot better for letting that go. Nurturing a grudge never did anyone any good - the past fifteen years have taught me that much. And trust me, those two grand won't last him long."

"Good." Evie sniffles against his shoulder before leaning away, her mouth a vindictive line. "He can choke on that stupid money for all I care, as long as he stays out of your life from now on. I hope he'll have a bruise on his face a mile wide to remind him. Richard really slugged him good."

_Richard._

Gazing around, Lee suddenly realizes with a little shock of concern that Richard seems to have quietly disappeared from the scene. It doesn't take long to spot him, however, as he's slumped down in one of the waiting area seats - sitting, Lee realizes with a pang of fond nostalgia, in almost the same spot as he was on the day they first met, although very little in his posture harkens back to the man Lee remembers first laying eyes on that day (who had clearly never seen the inside of a tattoo shop in his life and had been so endearingly intrigued by it all). Shoulders hunched and head bowed, he is cradling his knuckles in the opposite hand and doesn't look up when Lee approaches.

"I'm sorry," he rasps, wrenching out the words in a broken voice that makes Lee swiftly kneel down in front of him, straining for a proper look at his face, but Richard seems determined to avoid his concerned gaze. "Hitting him was a mistake, I shouldn't have done that, I should -"

"Hey," Lee says, putting his hands on Richard's knees and squeezing gently, "it's okay. Look at me, Rich."

"It's not okay, Lee. You're a big boy, you were handling that situation just fine, I shouldn't've butted in like that and clobbered the bastard to the ground like some savage. It was stupid and unnecessary. But those things he was saying, and when I saw him try to touch you, I just..." He flexes his fingers, staring at them incredulously. "I'm not a guy who hits people. I'd never done anything like that before in my life."

"Could've fooled me," Lee teases affectionately. "But seriously, Rich, that was incredible. I daresay you did what everyone here wanted to do, myself included. Don't worry about it, okay? He's gone. We won't see him again." He takes Richard's hand and brings it to his mouth, whispering kisses along the knuckles. "And that little savage streak? Pretty fucking sexy, babe."

A tremulous smile curves Richard's mouth, and he turns his hand around to softly drag his thumb along Lee's jaw, going against the grain of his stubble in that way that Lee loves. A cloud of worry sits heavy on his brow. "You're okay?"

"I really am," Lee answers truthfully. "Just so relieved that's over, and as bad as it was, I had expected much worse. I think my therapists were right - I just had to see him one more time to realize what a sad, pathetic excuse for a man he is. And I have to admit, that apology - as insincere as it was - was pretty damn satisfying. I'm going to get a lot of mileage out of that alone."

"Ian was superb," Richard says. "Handled that with a lot more class than I could've, that's for sure. But the real hero here was you, Lee. Eric thought he could just show up here after fifteen years and walk all over you, but you proved him so, so wrong. For what it's worth, I think you made the right decision regarding the money, but I'm just as proud of you for telling him where to stick it. I hope you're proud of yourself, too."

"Heck yeah." Lee grins, unable to tamp down the exuberant joy filling his heart to bursting, and he threads his fingers through Richard's as he gets up, tugging him to his feet and turning to gaze around at the anxious faces peering back at him uncertainly. Even Dean - in fact, especially Dean - seems at a loss for words to fit the occasion.

"Come on, guys, this is not a funeral," Lee announces, looking at them all one by one until he gets some smiles in return. "We're celebrating tonight, remember? So let's get the hell out of here and go eat before we lose the table. I don't know about you, but - I'm really fucking starving."


	41. Oriole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay. This chapter was a lot harder to write than I thought it was going to be, considering it's just a whole lot of smut of disgusting mushiness. But we're getting to the final chapters and I Want Everything To Be Perfect and aaggghhh. *bites nails* Anyway, enjoy. Please. I beg you.
> 
> And while I'm at it: it's been a while since I gave a shout-out to eucatastrophe__x, who was really helpful in plotting out the middle part of this chapter especially. An arduous task that we both really, really hated, I'm sure. :P
> 
> Last but not least, I had the privilege of being gifted some amazing fanart by tumblr user leepacesweetfantasy. Thank you so much!

[ ](https://leepacesweetfantasy.tumblr.com/post/158030328616/for-wirkmood)      ([X](https://leepacesweetfantasy.tumblr.com/tagged/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers))

"I would just like to say, very briefly," Lee announces, taking advantage of a rare lull in the conversation after the waitress has brought them their first round of drinks and a stack of menus to pore over, and he holds up his glass of soda for a toast as he gazes around the table, "that it's a pleasure and a privilege to be sitting here with you tonight, and I intend to enjoy every second of it. I know this evening wasn't exactly off to an auspicious start..." - he pauses for a moment to clear his throat surreptitiously, while underneath the table Richard's hand squeezes his thigh in silent support - "... but this is a night of celebration and don't you all forget it." It garners him the laughter he was aiming for, and they all raise their glasses to express their approval of the sentiment.

"Lastly, about what happened," he adds after a moment's consideration, "I just want to say that it's been a long time coming and while I'm deeply sorry you all had to bear witness to something so thoroughly unpleasant, I must admit I'm not sorry Eric decided to corner me when and where he did - at the shop, where I was among friends. You were amazing, each and every one of you, and I really can't thank you enough for your unconditional support. It made all the difference today, and as I'm looking around this table I couldn't be more grateful and proud to have you in my life. Your friendship means the world to me, and at the risk of getting all sentimental on you guys, well - I love you all, really."

"Hear, hear," Ian says in agreement, and Evie leans over to kiss Lee on the cheek affectionately. Earlier, at the shop, she had done the same - and a bit more - for Richard, telling him plainly that he was a hero and refusing to let him dispute it. "If you hadn't punched the fucker, I would've," she'd declared, hugging him fiercely while he produced a hesitant smile and seemed to resign himself to the praise he clearly didn't think he deserved. "You're a keeper, Richard Armitage."

"No offense, Eves, but that's old news to me," Lee had joked, pleased and touched to see Richard getting some much-needed love too in the wake of what just unfolded, and now that they are at the restaurant and the dust has settled a bit, he privately makes a vow to make sure Richard will get a lot more of it in the days (and nights) to come. The thought puts an anticipatory smile on his face he is unaware of until Aidan comments on it as they open their menus to see what's on offer.

Against perhaps everyone's expectations, it turns into a lovely, carefree evening, not least thanks to the excellent food being put on their table course after course and the shiraz flowing abundantly on Ian and Dean's side of the table. Conversation is loud - perhaps a little too much so at times, if the disapproving frowns of the patrons at the neighboring table are any indication - and Lee is relieved to notice Richard getting chattier and smiling more as time goes by, their hands occasionally finding each other under the table - discreetly, or so they think - until Evie calls them out on it and tells them to 'stop acting like middle schoolers and fucking kiss already, this isn't the Republican Convention'. Lee just laughs, but Richard seems to take Evie's wisecrack as a challenge, curling his arm around the back of Lee's chair and leaning closer sporting a mischievous smile and a pinkish flush that may or may not be due to the poor air circulation in the fully packed restaurant. Evie crows in victorious delight, apparently determined to have the entire restaurant looking at them, but Richard either doesn't notice or doesn't care, the tip of his tongue darting across his bottom lip involuntarily. A kiss is clearly on offer should Lee decide to go for it, and he can't help but sway into it with an impish grin, expecting a timid peck - Richard might consider it rude to get all openly PDA in front of their friends - and surprised when instead, Richard reaches up and cups his cheek to gently guide him closer, the lingering press and gentle slide of their mouths enough to make Lee's stomach flutter. It is unexpectedly sweet and infinitely lovely and Lee would have been perfectly okay with it going on for a long, long time.

It is also, he acutely realizes, their first kiss since Richard left for the theatre that morning. At the shop, earlier that evening, circumstances had not allowed for them to greet each other properly the way they normally do, with a kiss and an embrace and enquiries about each other's days.

By the time Richard pulls away (smirking a little at their indulgence in front of their friends and a room full of strangers) it is Lee who is blushing. "How was rehearsal, by the way?" he blurts, the non sequitur making Richard laugh, and for a moment Lee wonders how quickly they're going to be able to call it a night without seeming impolite.

That is a fleeting thought, however, discarded almost immediately as Dean cracks them all up with one of his always available anecdotes, and by the time they've scraped their dessert plates clean and Aidan proposes they all head down to the club to dance off the excess calories, only Ian excuses himself, standing firm even against Evie's cajoling. "Old queers like me should know better than to show their faces at a place like that," he jokes gently, waving away all of their objections. "You youngsters just go and have fun. Just so long as you're all back at the shop tomorrow with clear heads and happy faces. After all, we have a reputation to uphold - now more so than ever. Don't we, lads and lady?"

"Yes, Ian," Evie and Aidan drone obligingly, and Ian grins as he digs up his credit card and waves the waitress over with it. A nursing student from Kyoto, she'd told them she'd taken the waitressing job to help pay for her studies and take some of the financial strain off her parents, all the while eyeing a completely oblivious Dean with such a becoming blush that Lee had promptly decided to get her number for Dean if the oaf himself neglected to.

While Ian and Miyako hash out the details of payment - Ian no doubt adding a generous tip for the excellent service - Richard leans over to Lee discreetly. "You're sure you want to go out?"

The question is not a strange one. Clubbing - or, in general, going out to places where large numbers of people congregate in confined spaces and alcohol and not rarely drugs are consumed in copious quantities - is not a pastime Lee usually indulges in, for obvious reasons, and his sponsor might not be fully on board with how Lee is about to spend his Friday night. But if there ever was a time to do this - to go into an environment like that knowing temptation will be rife and impossible to turn a blind eye to, just to let loose and have fun like a regular person, even if only for one night - it would have to be now, while he is brimming with confidence and feeling pretty damn invincible.

"I mean, it's your choice," Richard clarifies when there is no immediate response from Lee. "We could go home if you'd rather."

"And miss my chance to finally see you dance?" Lee smiles, teasing Richard but letting him know at the same time, in a lighthearted way, there's no need to be concerned. "Nice try, but no. We're going. You sneaky man, you."

Understanding the intention of the joke, Richard is swift to respond in kind. "If you were laboring under the impression that I will be dancing tonight," he says, making a prim face, "I'm sorry to inform you that you are sorely mistaken."

"It's a club, Rich. No point in going unless you're planning on working those rusty old hips." Lee scoots a bit closer still, unbothered by the realization that they were already practically nestled in each other's laps to begin with. "What's the problem, babe? I'm not sure why you're acting all coy about dancing in public when I have it on good authority you were quite the party animal back in London."

"Exactly." Richard's mouth twitches ruefully. "I hate to remind you, but that was twenty years ago. What little rhythm I may once have had is long gone. I should probably take a page from Ian's book and let this one pass."

"That's bull," Lee says, with a cheerful air of finality. "I bet you still have all the moves, and I'm gonna prove it to you."

It is around 10 PM when they finally leave the restaurant, the crisp air hitting their warm faces as they step outside and zip up their jackets. The last one to bid Ian goodnight is Lee, and he takes his time for it, folding Ian in a firm hug as he stammers more words of thanks into his ear and finds himself tearing up a bit in the process. Ian returns the embrace affectionately, if not a bit gruffly. "Come on, Lee, enough of this now," he chides fondly, patting his back. "It was gladly done, you know that. You should be free of him now, I reckon, but if the bastard has the gall to show up again, I need you to let me know immediately. Do I have your word?"

Lee makes the promise, squeezing Ian once more before pulling away with a smile. "You're an exceptional human being, Ian, one I'm proud to call my friend."

Ian blinks and looks away briefly, clearing his throat as he shoves his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. "That goes both ways, lad."

As loath as he is to see Ian go, Lee knows it would be pointless to try and persuade him to tag along, or even to ask him when they will see him again. Ian abides by no timetable but his own, appearing and disappearing as he pleases, now and for as long as anyone has known him. "Next time you're at the shop," he says instead, "we need to talk. About Evie and Aidan."

Ian smiles. "About the fact that they have been making ga-ga eyes at each other all evening? Or about the raise they've been pestering you about for a while now?"

After all this time, Ian's keenness of eye and mind shouldn't surprise Lee anymore - but it still always does. "It, uh, was mostly Evie campaigning for a raise," he admits sheepishly, "I just figured - Aidan's been with us a while now, and he's a good, loyal kid, hard-working kid, and-"

Ian cuts off his rambling with a simple gesture. "Sucks being the boss, doesn't it?" He gives him a sympathetic grin. "It's fine, Lee, give them both whatever you think appropriate. Heck, give yourself a little extra too while you're at it."

"I'm pretty sure that's unethical, Ian, if not unlawful."

"It won't be if I sign off on it. Really, Lee, you don't need to consult me about every single penny. Just get me the paperwork to sign. Whatever it takes to keep my crew. I know for a fact there's plenty of shops in town lying in wait with an offer, hoping to acquire one of the thoroughbreds from my stable."

Lee laughs. "You're daft, Ian. But even if that were true, I think I speak for all of us when I say we're not going anywhere."

They decide that a walk after dinner will do them good, and on the way over to the club - one of Aidan's regular haunts, which he assures them caters to people of all sexual orientations and plays some fairly danceable music - Lee excuses himself to Richard and veers away from his side to fall into step with Dean instead. Over the course of the evening, he'd gotten the feeling several times that someone was looking at him, only to look up and find Dean's gaze quickly skittering away. Even now, it is obvious from the way he is trudging along behind Aidan and Evie, glassy eyes focused on nothing in particular, that there is something weighing on his mind.

Whatever it is, Lee has no doubt that Dean's despondency somehow relates to the things he inadvertently heard and witnessed at the shop, and is determined to pull the thorn out decisively and painlessly. "Are you okay, Dean?" he asks him kindly.

"You're asking _me_ that?" Dean's lips twitch ruefully, and he sighs and shakes his head. "Lee, I feel like the biggest prick alive. I thought I knew your story after our talks, but I had no idea - no idea you went through those horrific experiences."

"You couldn't have known, Dean. I've kept it close to my chest for a very long time. Not even Evie knew before today, and I consider her one of my closest friends. Why do you think I stipulated before our interview that certain topics were off-limits?"

"Yeah... that definitely makes a lot more sense now." Dean's guilt-ridden gaze flicks in Lee's direction. "I'm not sure why you still tolerate me around all of you, to be honest. To think that I almost sold those stupid pictures and your relationship with Richard to the tabloids. And to add insult to injury, I used Aidan as a pawn and only changed my mind about the whole deal when I smelled a better story. It's just so damn short-sighted and greedy and shameful. And then you went and saved Jack from the clutches of one of those predators before he met a similar fate. Don't get me wrong, Lee, you were already a hero in my book, but knowing what you yourself went through at the hands of that pervert makes what you did all the more remarkable. Consider me a man humbled. I'm sorry I never paused to wonder if Jack's experience might mirror your own."

"It's okay, Dean. Really. You would be surprised at how difficult it is for people to believe that a 6'5 guy can be a victim of rape. Sadly the subject is even more taboo for men, and those that do speak up about it are usually met with prejudice and cynicism. Personally, I've had people tell me that I asked for it or that I was making it up for the sake of attention. That taught me to be a lot more careful about whom I did and didn't tell."

"What? That's outrageous! Why the fuck would anyone make something like that up for kicks?"

Lee shrugs. "Anyway, I digress. My point is, don't beat yourself up for not knowing something I deliberately kept secret from a lot of people. I'm glad you came to your senses about the pictures, and I'm grateful for the opportunity you gave me to share my story with so many people and hopefully help a few. It's been an incredibly rewarding experience, and it wouldn't have come to pass without you. So really, thank you."

"That is kind of you to say, Lee, but I'm not so sure I did you a favor," Dean says unhappily. "It was my fucking brilliant idea to put a recognizable picture of you front and center."

"Which I agreed to," Lee reminds him gently, "knowing full well what the consequences might be. And even if I could go back, knowing what I do now, I wouldn't change a thing." He pauses and rethinks, adding with a somewhat guilty smile, "Actually, that's not quite true. Given the chance, I'd do a better job of preparing you all in advance for what might happen. Some of you got quite a shock today, and that could have been prevented, if only I'd put shame aside for a moment and opened my damn mouth."

"For what it's worth, Lee, I don't think you of all people have anything to apologize for. I can't even begin to imagine what that confrontation must have been like for you, or how you felt today seeing him again, having to stand there and listen to all that- that filth. That must have taken a great deal of courage." As they stop at a busy road and wait to cross, Dean turns to face him earnestly. "You are absolutely sure that going ahead with the article was the right call? Because if you have any regrets, however small, I'd be happy to grovel a while. I feel like I kind of bullied you into the whole thing but you're too polite to admit it."

Lee chuckles at that. "No groveling necessary, Dean. I was skeptical at first, that much is true, but you made an excellent pitch. I could tell it came from the heart, which was what ultimately made me change my mind. And think of it this way - if I hadn't agreed to the interview, I wouldn't have met Jack or gotten his call that night. So you see, it really was a good thing, in more ways than one."

"I guess I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right." Dean smiles. "And come to think of it, I have a stack of letters in my bag that I suspect will prove your point many times over. My friend at _People_ said that she's rarely seen the human interest section generate such a reader response. Have you been keeping up with the buzz online?"

"Uh - sort of," Lee vaguely replies, barely suppressing a smirk when he thinks, suddenly, of gaybear_uncut2984 and the way Richard had laughed himself breathless and squirmed under him as they were roughhousing on the couch after. "Just how many letters are we talking about here?"

"Plenty to keep you occupied over the weekend, I'd say. I was going to give them to you at the shop, but - well, that didn't end up happening for obvious reasons."

After that the conversation turns to Jack, and to the strides he's been making with the support of his family and school counselor. Lee has seen the miraculous changes for himself during their weekly Skype chats and continues to be amazed at how well the kid is bouncing back physically from his ordeal - he has gained some weight and is looking much healthier already. Being as young as he is, with a solid support system backing him up, he stands an excellent change at coming out of this none the worse for wear. And while Lee refuses to take the credit for where Jack is now - because the responsibility for his recovery lies, first and foremost, with Jack himself - knowing that he was able to make a difference in this kid's life does give him hope that maybe, Jack isn't the only young addict out there who can be pulled back from the ledge. It is a persistent thought, one he has been unable to shed ever since he got home from the hospital that one morning and crawled into bed exhausted to pass out with Richard's body wrapped around him. Ever since then, it has been quietly percolating in the privacy of his mind, waiting for the right moment to be shared with a larger audience than himself and the man whom he's shyly whispered it to in one of those private, unguarded moments before sleep, when his tongue is loosened by the adrenaline and euphoria that kick in after good sex.

Once the idea has had more time to mature, Dean will certainly be one of the first people he tells about it, but now certainly isn't the time for confessions of any magnitude, their conversation cut short by Aidan rounding them all up and ushering them off the street and into an outwardly unremarkable building that resembles in very few ways the inviting, neon-lettered establishments he remembers from his (admittedly long-gone) clubbing days. It is only once they check in their jackets and coats and follow Aidan past the slightly claustrophobic, dimly-lit foyer that the heavy drone of loud music starts to filter through.

"No offence, Aidan," Dean says good-humoredly, "but where the fuck have you taken us? Should've known we'd end up someplace weird, given your fucking obscure taste in bands when we were in high school."

The tail end of Dean's remark is drowned out by the blare of the music as Aidan opens the door and stands back to let Evie go in first. "For your information," he hollers in reply, " _Rumble_ happens to be the most fun you can have on a Friday night barring sex."

Dean smirks wickedly. "You probably come here a lot, then?"

"Don't tease, Dean," Evie admonishes him as Aidan flushes pink. "A night of dancing and hot, sweaty sex aren't mutually exclusive." She rubs Aidan's arm and smiles at him, the implication enough to deepen Aidan's blush to a shade of beetroot and - almost - make Lee wish she would just end the poor guy's suffering and kiss him right there.

At the same time, he feels Richard's fingers gently grasping his as he murmurs close to his ear, "Whenever you start feeling like you want to leave, just say the word, okay?"

Although he understands the true meaning of Richard's suggestion perfectly well, Lee turns his head to grin at him semi-innocently. "Leave? We only just got here. And besides, handsome, you ain't getting any until I've seen you bust out some moves on the dance floor. So like it or not, into the fray we go."

Richard rolls his eyes at him indulgently, the two of them sharing a long, fond look that doesn't go unnoticed by Dean, who groans in exasperation. "Oh for fuck's sake. Between you guys and the other two lovebirds, looks like 'ole Dean O'Gorman got himself into another fine third wheel situation."

They all laugh, and Evie steps up to give Dean a gentle hug. Looking somewhat perplexed, he lets her. "Cheer up, kid, you're part of the gang now and we're gonna look after you." She pulls away with a little chuckle that spells trouble. "So buckle up and get ready to shake your groove thing, Deano - we're gonna get you laid."

Inside, Aidan wastes no time herding their little group towards the bar, where they proceed to order some of the most inappropriately-named cocktails - or mocktails, in Lee and Richard's case - on offer, and while they wait for the gum-chewing bartender to skillfully mix their drinks they take a few moments to survey their surroundings and get the lay of the land. As is to be expected on a Friday night, the place is crowded - but in astounding contrast to the dingy foyer, the main area where they now find themselves is surprisingly wide and spacious, offering plenty of room for people to move about and, most importantly, party it up on the dance floor without feeling like sardines squashed in a tin. To Lee, this is a relief - and standing at the bar with his friends he quickly feels what little anxiety flared up inside him when he first entered subside. While he is somewhat outside of his comfort zone here, he reminds himself that this is no worse than being trapped underground with thousands of strangers, the way he is when taking the subway almost every day. In fact, he muses with a smile, first impressions notwithstanding this establishment appears to be a whole lot better ventilated than New York subway trains and stations usually are, and the people in attendance are a lot more relaxed than commuters on any given work day.

And absolutely no one here seems to take offence at or even notice his tattoos.

Once they're all clutching their drinks and have had their little squabble over who gets to pay for them - Lee's offer immediately outvoted by the others, who seem united in insisting that he not pay for a single thing tonight - they go off in search of a place to sit and chat and acclimatize before immersing themselves in the undulating sea of people ringing out the workweek on the dance floor. Following Aidan, who has quite happily taken on the role of tour guide for the night, they pick their way through the crowd towards the main seating area, which is located on a raised platform that offers patrons a prime viewing spot and enables singles on the prowl to scout out their next conquest among the partying crowd.

It is also Aidan who first spots an unoccupied set of couches and lounge chairs amid the many that are taken and makes a dash for it, sprawling unapologetically over the longest couch - so no one else can possibly claim the spot before the others catch up - and waving to alert them to his find. The fact that he is so obviously going out of this way to make sure everyone has a good time is as entertaining as it is endearing, and Evie is suspiciously quick to slide into the spot next to Aidan as he scoots over to make room for them. Lee notices it, and judging from the way he beams with the brightness of a thousand suns Aidan does, too.

The others join them - Lee grabbing Richard's hand and pulling him down next to him surprising exactly no one while Dean claims one of the comfy lounge chairs for himself, curling up in it with a blissful expression - and they all raise their glasses for a toast, grinning sheepishly at one another as they mentally grapple for an appropriate toast. Eventually it is Evie who comes through with one they can all get behind. "Here's to courage," she says, to nods and noises of agreement, "and here's to Ian, our ass-kicking, no-names-taking Boss with a capital B..." This prompts a crescendo of cheers, and she waits patiently for it to die down before delivering the final part, clinking her glass to the others'. "And most importantly of all, here's to Richard's right fist. Cheers."

"Cheers!" they all chime in amid laughter and wolf howls, while Richard blushes a shade of red impressive even for him and ducks his head, his obvious mortification prompting Lee to curl an arm around his neck and spontaneously kiss him - first on the cheek and then, even more impulsively, on the mouth as well.

"I'm not going to live this down anytime soon, am I?" Richard murmurs against Lee's lips.

"Afraid not, babe. Like it or not, you left quite an impression on these people, myself included." He smiles and winks. "All in a day's work for a hero, right?"

"I'm not a hero," Richard protests, somewhat weakly, as if he already knows it will fall on deaf ears. "Really, I'm not."

"No offence, guys," Aidan butts in, his drink still poised in mid-air as are all the others, "but we're not getting any younger over here."

"Sorry," Lee grins, entirely unremorsefully, as he and Richard mirror the others and tuck into their Virgin Strawberry Daiquiri and Mockmosa, respectively. It is, of course, only the opening round, and there are a lot more options on the menu to try, so barely have they finished their drinks or Dean is jumping up and taking their orders for the next. And after the cocktails come shots and after the shots Aidan decides that they've sat around long enough and that it's time to do some dancing while everyone's still physically able to.

"Right." He slams his empty shot glass down on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before launching himself off the couch. Not completely steady on his feet, he spins around to look at them all, giving an exaggerated eye roll at Lee and Richard, who are so cozily entwined that you couldn't pry them apart with a crowbar. "Come on, you guys, break it up. This is a good song."

"Song?" Richard deadpans as he emerges from the crook of Lee's neck with a skeptical smirk, and he makes a pained face at the deafening, monotone drone of the music blasting from the speakers. "I'm not hearing any song."

"Shut it, old man," Lee scolds him with a grin, "if this is what the kids nowadays like to dance to, who are we to criticize? Let 'em have their fun."

"You too, Lee," Evie orders, taking Lee by the elbow and dragging him to his feet laughing. "No playing Cinderella for you. I'm calling dibs on the first dance, come on."

"Hey - what about me?" Aidan pouts.

"You can dance with Dean." Evie smiles angelically. "Actually, that's something I'd quite like to see. So get to it, boys."

Obviously this is not the answer Aidan was hoping for, but Dean is more than happy to play along - which is perhaps an indication of just how intoxicated he is already. "Come on, love," he purrs, not unconvincingly, taking Aidan's hand and pulling him towards the dance floor while Aidan looks back over his shoulder in dismay.

It makes them laugh, but as amusing as it is to tease Aidan (because the poor kid _always_ bites), Lee can't help but take pity. "Don't tease him too cruelly, Eves," he says gently. "He really is crazy about you."

To his surprise, her head snaps around so fast that one of her own braids slaps her in the face. "He is? He told you that? In those exact words?"

"Ad nauseam." Lee grins. "Honestly, Evie, he's so glaringly obvious about it that anyone with half a brain can see it. No offence."

Richard nods in agreement. "True. Kid thinks you're a goddess. As do we all, actually, but Aidan is carrying quite the torch for you."

Evie blushes, looking so guilty that Lee tucks her into his arms and holds her close. "I'm not trying to be harsh or guilt-trip you, lily bud. Aidan is an appalling flirt, so I don't blame you for not realizing how deep his feelings ran. But as his friend, and yours, I felt it was my duty to tell you."

"No, it's okay," comes her muffled reply. "And you're right, I know that I tease him too much and he doesn't deserve that. Old habits die hard, I guess, but... I do like him too. I like him a lot."

"Maybe you should go down there, then," Lee suggests with a smirk, nodding in the direction of the dance floor where Aidan and Dean have just joined the fray, "and tell them that you've changed your mind and want to take Dean's place. Aidan will thank you for it."

"Oh, I will," she says, giggling now as she lifts her still-blushing face up at him, "I'm planning on dancing with all you handsome gentlemen before this night is over. Yes, Richard, that includes you. But don't worry, I'll let you have your turn with Lee as soon as I'm done with him."

"That's perfectly okay." Richard holds up his hands and grins, sitting back ostentatiously and crossing his legs in a casual, relaxed pose. "I'm good to stay here and keep the couch while you kids work yourselves into a sweat. I'll even see if I can attract the attention of the waitress from here and order another round of shots for when you get back clamoring for refreshments, how's that?"

She raises an amused eyebrow at him. "Yeah... somehow I don't think you'll have much difficulty doing that," she says unsubtly, and this time it is Richard who blushes at the barely veiled compliment. "Well, should you change your mind, you know where to find us."

Down on the dance floor, the sea of bodies swaying and bopping to the infectious, hypnotizing thrum of the music seems to have become denser since they first arrived, but towering over almost everyone has its advantages and Lee - weaving his way through the crowd with Evie on his tail, hand tucked in his - eventually spots Aidan and Dean, who are right in the thick of it, all flailing limbs and flopping hair.

"Hey!" Aidan hollers at them over the din, waving excitedly (and completely unnecessarily) to attract their attention. He seems surprised to see only the two of them. "Richard sitting this one out?"

"Keeping the couch." Lee shrugs and elaborates with a forgiving smile, "Which is Richard speak for he hasn't been clubbing in over a decade and worries he'll throw out a hip or something."

"What? That's bull!" Aidan could not look more personally offended if he tried, and he peers up at the lounge area sternly to seek out a shape that might be Richard as if to challenge him on this issue. And sure enough, barely has he spotted him or he starts gesticulating wildly. "Richard! Get your ass down here and dance like everybody else! That's an order!"

There’s not the slightest chance that Richard will be able to hear what Aidan is yelling, but his gestures seem to get the message across just fine based on the broad smirk they can see on Richard's face even from such a distance.

"Is he seriously going to sit there all night and guard our drinks?" Dean asks incredulously. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Oh, he may think he is," Lee says, grinning confidently, "but I'll find a way to get him down here grooving it up with the rest of us, mark my words."

The first few minutes on a dance floor are always somewhat awkward - at least they are for Lee, who needs the time to figure out how to move his bulk around somewhat gracefully without treading on strange feet and without accidentally planting his elbows into the faces of the poor people who happen to be dancing in his vicinity - and the fact that he doesn’t recognize the next song that comes on (no surprise, really, given that Richard isn’t the only one who hasn’t been clubbing in a while) doesn't exactly help him shake the stiffness. To his surprise, though, Aidan and Evie greet the first few bars with excited whoops and cheers and proceed to perform a sequence of alarmingly synchronized moves, taking one step to the left, then two to the front, while clapping their hands and mouthing along with the completely incomprehensible Spanish lyrics. Even more bewildering is the fact that they aren’t the only ones reacting this way - at least half of the people in the club seem to be moving in tandem all of a sudden, while the other half either look on utterly perplexed or keep doing their own thing. It is something of a relief for Lee to find that he isn’t the only one there who’s oblivious - even better, Dean seems just as nonplussed - but Evie isn't going to let him flounder.

"It's easy," she reassures him, grabbing his hands and pulling him closer, "come, I'll show you - just do what I do."

Lee grins and obeys, paying close attention to the movements Evie shows him and doing his best to replicate them. Although he has to acknowledge almost immediately that he does not have the best rhythm, he knows that Evie won't laugh at him for making a mess of it, her big smile and infectious giggles only encouraging him to let loose and just have fun with it. But he does pick up a thing or two along the way, and by the end of the song he is able to at least vaguely keep in time with the routine.

He is also left slightly out of breath, not from the exertion so much as from cracking up laughing about Evie's dance floor antics. "You're as kooky as they come, Eves, but I love you all the more for it."

"Right back at ya," she fires back cheerfully, letting out a little squeak of surprise when he picks her up impulsively and plants an obnoxiously loud kiss on her cheek, swinging her around until she shrieks with laughter.

After that it's all systems go, Lee abandoning all reserve and moving to the beat of the music regardless of whether he knows the song or not, busting out every dance move in his (limited) repertoire in the sure knowledge that he's going to wake up with a sore back the next morning - nothing that an aspirin and a nice backrub from Richard won't fix, though. Smiling impishly at the thought, he suppresses the urge to chance a glance up at the podium and instead grins at the antics of Aidan and Dean, who are bounding around like they aren't about to tire anytime soon. Sooner or later, Richard is going to get bored sitting by himself up there and Lee can wait patiently until that happens.

When the opportunity presents itself - in other words, when Aidan and Evie are too busy cozying up to each other to have eyes for anything else - Lee slips Dean the note with Miyako's number. (He had discreetly acquired it when Dean had left the table for a minute to go to the men's room. Needless to say that he'd been very emphatic in telling her for whom he was asking, and the way she'd blushed as she scribbled down the numbers on a paper napkin confirmed that he was definitely on to something here.)

A bit more surprising is the crimson red flush engulfing Dean's face as he quickly folds the napkin into a tiny square and stuffs it into his pocket - presumably before Aidan can spot it and ask questions. "Jesus, Lee - when Evie made that joke about getting me laid, I didn't think you'd actually take the task that seriously."

"I'm not looking to get you laid, Dean," Lee corrects him in a mildly stern tone. "Miyako is sweet, pretty and smart. Call the girl, take her out for a drink. Journalists date, don't they?"

"She gave you this? For me?" Dean looks utterly perplexed by the idea. "She's not gonna be waiting by the phone for a call from you, is she?"

Lee chuckles. "Dean, if Miyako thinks I'm straight and on the market, she hasn't been paying attention, and I'm pretty sure the whole damn restaurant was paying attention when Richard and I had that little go at each other."

"True enough." Dean rubs his neck and offers a boyish grin, patting the pocket that contains the note. "Uh... thanks for this."

"Use it," Lee urges. "You can thank me in your wedding speech."

Dean opts to rebuke him for that remark by making a face, and Lee laughs, turning away from him to resume dancing, only to find a man - thirtyish, dark curly hair slicked back, not unattractive - standing in front of him, beer casually in hand. "If you're giving out your number," the man says, indicating Dean with a nod of his head, "consider me the next in line."

Lee smiles, surprised but not intimidated in the slightest - he is not so rusty at this that he quails at a bit of flirtation, direct though it may be. His eyes trail down the man's body of their own accord, not missing the fact that he is built like an athlete, tall and limber. Nice set of shoulders in a slim fit grey T-shirt. "Him? No, he's just a friend," he says, meaning Dean, as he begins swaying again to the rhythm of the music.

"That's good, then." The man lifts the beer bottle to his lips, eyes never leaving Lee as he takes a sip. "I'm here with friends, too. They're over there." He gestures at two or three men dancing nearby. "They dared me to come talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because they're assholes." The guy laughs. "And because I think you are cute, and told them so. Name's Ryan, by the way."

Ryan has a nice laugh, Lee decides; the laugh of a man he might in the past have allowed himself to flirt and trade numbers with, during the brief times in his life when he was single and looking for some uncomplicated fun (before inevitably starting to yearn again for the security, and various other perks, of a relationship, because he is a commitment man at heart).

Needless to say, the circumstances are very different now, the time for a fling left well and truly in the past. Still, the man's attention is flattering, and in a way it is nice to know that he's still got it. "Lee."

"Wanna dance, Lee?" Before Lee can work out how to subtly prepare Ryan for the only possible outcome of this interaction - namely, Lee sending this guy on his merry way - Ryan steps a bit closer and begins moving in sync with him. He has nice eyes, too - not Lee's preferred blue but a dark coffee brown that is attractive in its own right, and they peer into Lee's own with a warm interest that is both flattering and increasingly unnerving, making Lee rack his brain for a way to offhandedly drop the word 'boyfriend' into the conversation before Ryan gets any ideas. Christ, he really has been out of the game for too long. Behind Ryan, he sees Evie glancing his way and raising a questioning eyebrow, as though assessing whether he needs saving from his suitor.

"You move well, for such a big guy," Ryan remarks conversationally. "My last boyfriend was freaky tall, too. No sense of rhythm though."

Lee shrugs. "I have no idea what I'm doing, just here for a good time, really. I think tall people shouldn't dance when they can help it, but tonight I'm making an exception."

"Special occasion?"

Lee just grins. "Long story."

He half expects Ryan to ask further questions, but his new friend switches gears instead. "Awesome tattoos you got. I like a guy who rocks some ink, it's sexy. As are you, but I'm sure you get people telling you that all the time."

It is such a tacky come-on that Lee nearly bursts out laughing, believing it to be in jest, only to stop himself when he realizes it was said completely unironically.

"I got a tattoo as well," Ryan elaborates, "just a small thing though, nothing like yours. Wanna see?"

"Uh - depends on where it is, I guess."

Ryan laughs and grabs the low plunge of his V-neck to pull the fabric aside and reveal a tanned and waxed chest, glancing expectantly up at Lee to see his reaction. "What do you think?"

Lee casts an obliging look, but despite his best intentions, his gaze is drawn almost inexorably from the rather unimaginative Celtic cross tattoo on Ryan's pec to the far more surprising silver barbell piercing his nipple.

In itself, it is nothing scandalous or even remarkable - Christ, it's not as if he doesn't see pierced body parts all the time, piercings may not be his thing personally but they're part of the culture he moves in - but Lee finds that this unexpected embellishment rubs him up the wrong way, possibly because he feels he got tricked into seeing it, something he definitely could have done without.

"Nice," he says politely, distractedly, forcing his eyes away from the offending piece of jewelry, "is that your only tattoo?"

"You're welcome to find out," Ryan volleys back without missing a beat, winking at Lee as he takes another leisurely sip of beer, and Lee scolds himself for walking into that trap like the idiot that he is (and for blushing something fierce at the implication). At the same time, though, the undisguised proposition provides the segue he's been waiting for.

"Actually," Lee plunges ahead, grateful for the chance to set the record straight, "flattered as I am, uh, I'm gonna have to pass, thanks."

"Why? You got a better offer?"

"Well -" Lee shrugs and grins. Blunt or not, a straightforward question begs a straightforward answer. "As a matter of fact I do. My boyfriend."

The words do not quite sort the effect he was going for - Ryan just cocks a confident eyebrow, his smile undeterred. "Honey, if your boyfriend thinks he has more important things to do on a Friday night than dance with you, you can do better than him."

_Christ._

On some level, Lee cannot help but admire - and is quite amused by - this guy's tenacity, but at the same time, it puts him in the rather awkward position of having to come up with a witty retort in defense of his (admittedly quite absent) boyfriend.

But before he can do so - before he can waste more of his breath and time on a smarmy dude with a nipple piercing he's never going to see again in his life - he feels, unexpectedly and yet somehow not so, a presence behind him that tells him he won't have to explain anything after all, and he doesn't have to look back to know whose hands he now feels settling on his waist.

And at just the perfect time, too.

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugs, unable to tamp down what he fears is quite a gloating smirk as he gets the familiar and welcome feel of a body he knows intimately pressing into his slightly. "I like to think I did pretty well."

Richard - who seems to have overheard enough of the conversation to understand the gist - lets out an admonishing chuckle, and Lee decides that watching Ryan stare at Richard with wide-eyed surprise and curiosity is, after seeing Eric flattened out on the shop floor, probably the second most satisfying thing to have happened all year.

"Made a new friend already?" Richard's low murmur, spoken close to Lee's ear, elicits a small pang of delight that warms Lee's stomach. "I let you alone for five fucking minutes."

"Yeah, turns out I'm quite the hot commodity around here." Lee grins and shifts his weight back so that his and Richard's hips slot together. This is quite intentional from his perspective, and he gleams with satisfaction when Richard reciprocates with a little grind of his own, hands tightening slightly on his hips. "Changed your mind about dancing, then?" he asks quasi-nonchalantly. "Who's watching our drinks?"

"Drinks can bloody well watch themselves," Richard growls, and Lee all but dissolves into giggles at how obvious he's being. "This guy bothering you?"

"Not at all," Lee beams, and god, he would be lying if he said that this conversation - along with the warmth of Richard's body, its contours so familiar even through layers of clothes - isn't turning him on at an alarmingly rapid pace.

"You sure? Because from where I was sitting, it sure looked like he was about two seconds away from buying a ticket to pantsville."

Lee laughs. "And to think that you gave me flack for being jealous when the roles were reversed," he teases. "Remember Cory?"

"Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay," Richard explains, the words coming out muffled and quite indistinct as he presses his nose into the skin of Lee's neck and nuzzles along the hairline. "I'm sorry, I don't want to be the overbearing boyfriend, but this guy seemed to be coming on a bit strong."

"Aw, Rich, please don't apologize. It's okay. This is nothing, compared to the shit that went down at the shop. I like to think I can handle pretty much anything after that, you don't have to protect me all the time - much as I appreciate the sentiment." He twists around slightly and gently nudges Richard's head until he lifts it up with a sheepishly apologetic smile. "That was some pretty impressive timing, though. I was just telling Ryan here about my fine-ass boyfriend, and lo and behold, up pops the man himself, as if to prove I'm not bragging."

"Well, my mum raised me to be punctual," Richard quips, his sentence ending in a soft hum of surprise when, in defiance of the less than ideal angle and with a spontaneity that seems to be the trend of the evening, Lee leans across the final inches and kisses him. He isn't sure what spurs him on this time, other than the heady throb of the music reverberating through his bones or the fact that he is surrounded by roughly two hundred strangers unwinding after a long week and infecting him with their euphoric energy, but he feels the impulse welling up inside him and Richard is right there and so he goes for it recklessly, his pulse picking up speed when Richards responds by surging into the kiss, his chest pressing into Lee's back and his fingers grasping ineffectually at his hips as he attempts to draw him closer still. Lee moans at the incredible feeling and strains his neck, grabs a greedy handful of Richard's hair and twines his fingers into its length, hankering for a better angle, for more of the addictive warmth and taste of Richard's mouth, more of that bold, skillful tongue making him forget where or who he is.

He quickly becomes so enraptured by the ravenousness of it that he is entirely unaware of the way angling up his arm and curling it around Richard's neck has caused his shirt to ride up a little bit and expose a sliver of his lower belly and hip. That is, until he feels Richard's fingers wandering along the waistband of his cargos and inching his shirt up a bit further to bare more of his skin and trace the curve of the phoenix' tail, rubbing it slowly with the rough pad of his thumb. The display is clearly intentional, the touch electric - it draws a yearning whine from Lee's throat, his hips twitching forward involuntarily. 

Richard withdraws with a chuckle and clacks his tongue. "Easy," he murmurs, using that low, playfully admonishing tone that makes Lee want to throttle him for being such a tease.

"You fucker," he breathes, the frustration in his voice only serving to put an even broader grin on Richard's face, "didn't know you had it in you to be that cheeky."

"Well, I'm glad I'm still able to surprise you."

It is only when Lee reluctantly extricates himself somewhat - because being pressed up to Richard like this just makes him long for more contact still, the kind that would involve dragging Richard off to a quiet corner and should definitely not be witnessed by a roomful of strangers - that he realizes Ryan hasn't moved and is observing them with an analytical little smile and an intrigued look on his face.

"Okay, guys, okay - I got the message," he says, smirking, not offended in the slightest. "Just out of curiosity, though - I don't usually bother with threesomes - but any chance you'd be open to welcoming a third party into the mix, spice things up a bit? I wouldn't mind being the baloney in that sandwich."

_Fucking hell._

Not sure whether to be amused or scandalized by the man's proposal, or what an appropriate response would be, Lee just stands there utterly gobsmacked for a moment while Richard merely chuckles and shakes his head, his arm winding around Lee's waist protectively. "Not a snowball's chance in hell, mate," he says pleasantly, as if he were declining a cigarette or a mint.

"Uh, yeah, what he said," Lee agrees, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from braying with laughter. "No offence, though."

Ryan shrugs. "Hey, none taken. The night is still young, and, well - can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

He excuses himself, and while Ryan respectfully beats his retreat - presumably going off to cast his line in more promising waters - Lee turns around to face Richard and pull him close. "So," he resumes as though nothing has happened, sliding his hands down the slope of Richard's back and giving his ass a squeeze, "I don't think you've answered my question yet. What do you say to giving that dancing thing a try?"

"I suppose," Richard mutters, his breath hitching audibly when Lee nudges his legs apart with his thigh, executing a deliberate, teasing grind that does exactly the trick, if the swelling press of cock against his leg - and the fact that Richard suddenly seems to have to make a concerted effort to string a coherent sentence together - is anything to go by. "I suppose - uh..."

"Yes?" Lee prompts sweetly, as he picks up the beat of the music again and begins to gently sway and rotate his pelvis to match it, making sure to keep Richard's thigh pressed firmly between his legs as he grinds their hips together in a slow, steady rhythm that would drive any man mad. "Come on, old man, dance. Let's see you work those hips."

"You're so cruel," Richard sighs, but it is a token protest at best, made even less credible by the way he's already begun mirroring Lee's movements, rolling his hips and rocking them into Lee's, the provocative rhythm and serpentine motions of their bodies as blatantly reminiscent of languorous fucking as they are of dancing, and it makes heat spike up Lee's spine and a grin a mile wide split his face.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes. "See? Rusty or not, I knew you could still burn up the dance floor with your slick moves. You can take a boy out of the West End, but you can't take the West End out of the boy."

"You're a bloody smug bastard, Pace," Richard grunts, amusement quirking the corners of his mouth.

"And you're a fucking bad liar," Lee counters affectionately. "Don't tell me you're not enjoying this when every inch of you-", he delivers a pointed little grind for emphasis, -"is screaming otherwise. You're reclaiming a piece of your youth. One that's a little more distant for you than it is for me, admittedly, but -" He chuckles at Richard's offended look and softens the sting with a reconciliatory kiss. "Be honest, aren't you glad you're here with me rather than sitting by yourself up there watching the fun go down?"

He punctuates the question with a cheeky squeeze of Richard's ass, which earns him the laughter he was going for. "So long as you don't expect me to do this every Friday night from now on," Richard sighs, to which Lee just smiles and joins cheeks with him, choosing not to talk but rather to simply enjoy what their bodies are doing in their own private little bubble in the middle of the dance floor, the people around them indistinct blurs merely, even the music fading out gradually until all Lee can see and feel is the man in front of him, the crinkles by his eyes and the relaxed little smile on his face and the way his hair is slightly ruffled from their ostentatious make-out session before.

And then there is also the fact that they are both achingly hard from their activities and basically dry-humping in public at the excuse of dancing. It is intensely uncomfortable and exhilarating at the same time, and Richard's eyes are almost completely black from the prolonged sexual stimulation that keeps building and building with no outlet available or promise of a release yet in sight. But maddening as it is, Lee relishes the delay, knowing from experience that patience now will pay off later.

"You look hot," he comments, joining his hands behind the back of Richard's neck and winding his fingers into the irresistible fullness of his hair. Richard loves having his hair stroked, and Lee isn't above taking advantage of that as often as he can get away with, pressing his fingertips into Richard's scalp and raking slowly against the grain. To be sure, Richard hums low in his throat and pushes into the touch like a dog asking to be petted.

"As in overheated? Yeah, I can believe that."

Lee rolls his eyes indulgently. "No, babe, as in fucking sexy." To emphasize his point, he curls his fingers around Richard's tattooed bicep, nudging the sleeve up slightly to admire how ridiculously good it looks on him and to spend a moment happily mulling over the memories that never fail to come flooding back every time he looks at the piece - which is often - and when he finally looks up again, he is met by a heated gaze that makes him want to drop to his knees and suck Richard off right there.

Richard seems to read his thoughts to the letter, his eyes suddenly quite fixated on Lee's mouth. "Let's go somewhere," he rasps, with such urgency that it makes Lee's throat go dry, "to the bathroom, or - I don't care where. I just - god, Lee, I can't do this much longer."

The suggestion certainly offers up some nice mental images for Lee to consider - god, does it get him hot to picture Richard pressed against a bathroom stall door with his jeans shoved roughly down to his knees, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back as Lee expertly sucks him to completion - and on any other day, he would have been more than happy to make them a reality, but tonight, he has other plans. They have been quietly ripening in his mind since dinner and are now fully crystallized, ready to be articulated.

"I can't believe I'm passing up on this," he says with a regretful smirk, "but truth be told, I would much rather you saved your strength for when we get home. Because -" He feels his heart pounding excitedly all of a sudden, fully cognizant of the significance of what he's about to say. "Rich, I have a request to make."

"Okay," Richard says slowly. "Go on?"

Lee laughs, a little guiltily, because judging from the concerned look Richard is giving him, he isn't doing a very good job of striking the right tone here. "Don't get me wrong," he elaborates quickly, "I wouldn't normally turn down a nice bathroom romp, but a day like this should be ended in style, so - here's what I think. I wanna dance with you for a bit longer, maybe have another drink or two, and then I wanna go home and get into bed and ride your cock into oblivion - if you're up for that."

To Richard's credit, his jaw does not quite hit the floor, but the blush racing across his face and the work of his throat as he gulps are almost as satisfying. "Well. Uh. That's - wow. That's quite an image you're putting in my head, Lee. I wasn't exactly prepared, but - Christ."

"And then," Lee goes on, smiling, "if you want, you could flip me over and fuck me, nice and slow, like you did that first time - without the blindfold, though. Because as hot as that was, I want to be able to see your face the whole time as you fuck me. So - does that sound good to you?"

Richard groans as though tortured by the idea - or, more accurately, by the knowledge that what Lee is suggesting will certainly not occur in the next two minutes. "God, Lee, yes, of course it does, but - are you sure you're ready for that? That now is the right time?"

Lee nods earnestly. "There never was a more perfect time, as far as I'm concerned." And it is true: facing Eric has left him feeling stronger, more confident, and ready to exorcise any other - far less powerful - demons. He can't remember the last time he felt this light and carefree at heart, and he finds he is chomping at the bit to go out and experience the world anew, in all its facets, the way he wasn't able to before because he was burdened down by a weight of hurt that is finally gone, gone, gone.

And - most liberating of all - he is not afraid anymore.

"Rich, do you trust me?"

"What kind of question is that, Pace?" Richard rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "The answer is yes."

"Trust me on this then - after everything that's happened, I wouldn't be asking this if I was anything less than sure." Smiling still, he slowly takes Richard's face between his hands and kisses him, steady and reassuring, not leaning away until Richard is well and truly breathless.

"Right. So, um..." Richard clears his throat, his eyes flicking towards the exit, "home?"

Laughing and shaking his head, Lee slides his arms around Richard's neck and picks up the rhythm of the music again, his hips coaxing Richard into doing the same. "Not so fast, babe. I've finally got you here on the dance floor and I'm not giving that up so easily. God knows when I'll next have the opportunity. So whatever you're thinking, shelve it for now and get comfortable, because you're going to be here a bit longer."

They stick it out on the dance floor for roughly another hour, pausing only once to catch a breather at the bar and toss back another pair of mocktails while the other three are downing shots at a rapid pace and seem to be well on their way to getting plastered, Aidan and Evie giving even Lee and Richard a run for their money in terms of inappropriate dancing and Dean rocking it out by himself, looking like he could keep at it for hours.

Unfortunately, Richard and Lee do not have that kind of time.

"We're outta here, Eves," Lee roars in Evie's ear. It seems as though the music has only gotten louder as the night wears on. "Make sure Dean takes a cab, okay? In fact, make sure you all do."

"You're leaving already?" a bleary-eyed Aidan protests. "What are you, old? You can't be that tired - we barely got here!"

"Leave 'em alone, Aid." Evie smirks, with a devious, knowing look at the two of them. "If you think they're going home to sleep, you haven't been paying attention."

"Charming." Lee rolls his eyes at her, but she just giggles and blows him a kiss.

"Say what you like," she singsongs, "I know I'm right."

He diplomatically ignores her jabs. "I'll see you tomorrow, lily bud," he says, kissing her on the cheek. "Look after these two yahoos, okay? I'm leaving you in charge. Don't let them go astray."

She waves in concession, sending them on their way with a teasing 'goodni-ight' as she shoos them off.

Once they've collected their coats, they spontaneously decide to walk home - it is only a thirty minute stroll to their apartment, and the cool air on their faces is a welcome change - but barely have they reached the end of the block or Richard is tugging Lee into a quiet alleyway with a mischievous smile and a breathless, "I'm sorry, but I absolutely need to kiss you, is that okay?"

"Oh fuck yes, please," Lee grits out, a whine of pleasure escaping him when their bodies press together to share warmth and Richard's hands slide under his jacket while they come together in a passionate kiss. It feels so fucking incredible that Lee curls one hand around the back of Richard's neck and the other into the fabric of his shirt, just in case Richard has the audacity to attempt a premature retreat. Even with the echo of the music still roaring in his ears, Lee can hear the sounds they are making traveling up the bare walls on either side of them, and for a moment he wonders if someone on the fifth floor is going to wake up, stick their head out the window and yell at them to break it up.

It is the first, but far from the only intense make-out session they indulge in en route, progress so slow that they end up flagging down a cab and plunking down in the back seat, which promptly transports Lee's mind back to the night of the fundraiser, when they'd been told off by the cab driver for getting it on a bit too enthusiastically and Lee had had to call upon every grain of willpower available to him to keep from climbing into Richard's lap. That night they would sleep together for the first time, and they had both known it during that maddening cab ride from the Ambassador to the apartment, the same way they know now how this evening is going to end. He leans over to Richard to share these memories, whispering them into his ear, and Richard commits to listening with a smile playing around his lips, guiding Lee's hand to his leg and keeping it there for the remainder of the drive, fingers loosely laced together atop his thigh. And yes, kissing also happens, but they get no comments this time, which either means the company rules are a bit more lenient or the driver simply doesn't give a fuck.

By the time they pull up to their apartment building, the adrenaline from clubbing and frenzied making out has worn off somewhat and they take the time to bicker over who gets to pay the fare (Lee wins) and chat with the driver for a minute before scooting out the same side of the car. The fish and chips shop is still open even at this hour, but they forgo a midnight snack this time and head straight up, laughing at their somewhat disheveled reflections in the elevator mirror. It is, Richard muses aloud, probably the first time he's returned from a night on the town stone cold sober.

"But I admit," he says with a smile, "it also was the most enjoyable night I've had in quite a while. Thank you."

"I'm glad, babe." Lee beams and squeezes his hand. "And I promise it's not over yet."

As they enter the apartment, Richard reflexively reaches for the light switch, but Lee stops him and tugs him into the room instead. "I think we can find the way to the bedroom without the light on," he teases, slowly pulling down the zipper of Richard's jacket, "don't you?"

They shed their jackets - and, with some acrobatics, their shoes - en route to the bedroom, leaving a messy trail on the floor as they go (even Richard, who is very particular about his clothes, which goes to show how distracted he is lavishing attention on Lee's mouth and neck while trying not to bump into things at the same time). They complete the journey without incidents and settle on the foot of the bed for more slow, attentive kissing, Lee so intoxicated with the slide of Richard's tongue coaxing his mouth further open that he barely remembers to breathe, the feeling of Richard's fingers stroking up his thigh towards his hip not helping in that regard. It reminds him acutely of his erection, which had all but disappeared in the cab but is returning with a vengeance, his cock filling out more with every curl of Richard's tongue, every teasing nip and nibble of his teeth on his neck or bottom lip.

When Richard finally - and god, the man sure is taking his time with this - slips his fingers under the hem of his shirt and touches his skin, it is like being zapped by a tiny electric current, and when Lee shivers in response, Richard stills briefly before repeating the caress even more deliberately, smiling against his mouth when Lee squeaks and squirms. "Aren't we ticklish tonight."

Lee shakes his head. "Try high-strung and, um, eager, I guess? Blame all that heavy grinding at the club."

"Yeah," Richard agrees, chuckling softly, "and who instigated that, again?" He captures Lee's mouth for another kiss, warm fingers spreading underneath Lee's shirt while his other hand does the same thing on the opposite side, slowly moving up the length of Lee's torso and bunching up the fabric until it reaches his chest. Entranced by the unhurried, almost reverent way Richard is undressing him, Lee raises his arms above his head, exhaling as Richard guides the fabric up along his arms almost torturously slowly, the whisper of cotton against his skin as electrifying as any intimate caress. Once the shirt comes off, Richard resumes lavishing attention on Lee's neck and now bare shoulders, leaving not an inch of them unkissed and driving him absolutely mad in the process, but it doesn't even cross Lee's mind to protest the slow pace or try and urge a faster one. He knows Richard isn't out to tease and torment him by taking his time. This - what they are doing, and doing so attentively - is about something entirely different.

"Your turn," Lee murmurs between two heated kisses, plucking at the hem of Richard's T-shirt and mirroring Richard's reckless grin as he works it up over his head a little less patiently, the movement leaving his hair sticking up in weird angles. "You look a mess," he tells him fondly, his eyes drawn to the swollen redness of Richard's mouth and that spot on his neck where his pulse races close to the skin - a spot Lee is looking forward to kissing later. "A sexy mess, though."

They spend a good long while on the edge of that bed, kissing and touching and gradually divesting each other of the last of their clothes, until Lee finishes the job by gently pushing Richard back onto the bed and peeling his jeans and boxers off him in the same movement. Richard chuckles. "Cheat." Lee just laughs, unable to summon a shred of contrition for his cheekiness when it has awarded him with the very thing he wanted - his first proper look at the body he never tires of seeing, the strong chest, the hips and thighs, and certainly not in the last place, the strong rise of his cock curving up from between his legs.

With not many words said between them, they end up scooting further onto the bed and crawl under the covers, where they continue to engage in more lovely, prolonged foreplay - sharing kisses and caresses that leave Lee feeling lightheaded, occasionally talking quietly, Richard seeking reassurance once more whether Lee is sure about what he wants to happen next and Lee giving him that reassurance in abundance and without hesitation, his fingers idly drawing patterns on his chest. "How about you?" he checks. "Nervous?"

"I guess I am, a little."

"That's okay. It'll pass, I promise. It's going to be fine." He slowly trails his fingers downward, across Richard's ribs and abdomen and further down from there, and he teases gently, "Could've fooled me, though," as he pointedly strokes a finger down the shaft of Richard's cock. It hasn't softened at all as they were cuddling, quite the contrary - Lee marvels at how hot and hard it is to the touch, a little moist at the tip, which he can't resist curling his fingers around for an experimental little twist. It makes Richard's breath catch in his throat, his hips jerk reflexively, and Lee finds he hungers for more responses like that, so he commences working Richard's cock slowly and steadily while watching his face attentively, greedy for the responses the pressure of his fingers elicits. And he is not disappointed - head tilted back slightly, eyelids heavy, quiet gasps and moans escaping his slightly parted lips, Richard looks so damn beautiful in these moments that Lee wants to commit every miniscule detail to memory. And, well, they are so close, on their sides practically lying nose to nose, that it isn't very hard for Lee to shift a fraction closer still and line his own cock up with Richard's and wrap his fingers around the both of them, encouraged by the cut-off, emphatic groan Richard gives in response. "Feels good?" he asks, completely redundantly.

Richard nods, biting his lip at the first slow drag of their cocks in Lee's secure grip, and Lee would be lying if he said that he isn't quite taken with the feeling himself, his hand a bit dry to begin with - he would reach for the lube if it wouldn't mean stopping what he is doing - but they make do with what nature provides, and they both groan in unison when the head of Lee's cock catches on Richard's just the right way. It feels so maddeningly good that Lee has to hold himself back from changing gears, pushing Richard back into the mattress and doing the only thing that will soothe the ache in his jaw, which is to take him down his throat and not stop until he tastes his come.

Eventually it is Richard who gently withdraws and rolls away to reach into the drawer for lube and a condom, both of which he puts in a strategic place within arm's length, for swift and easy access when the time is right. Richard likes to be efficient about things, even in bed, an idiosyncrasy that normally would have made Lee smile, but-

"Sorry for the interruption, love," Richard apologizes, turning back to face Lee with a grin that fades somewhat when he sees Lee's pensive expression. "Hey - what's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong," Lee assures him quickly, "nothing wrong at all, Rich, honest. I'm just wondering... what if we didn't do that this time?"

"What if we didn't do what?"

When Lee picks up the condom and holds it up between two fingers, offering no further explanation, Richard's eyes flick to the little square wrapper before slowly traveling back to Lee's face, surprise and hesitation replacing worry in his gaze. But there is something else in there too, something that speaks of want and heat. "Lee, I don't know if... That's a big step, love."

"Not that big," Lee says. "We've been talking about it for a while. We did all the tests, and it's safe."

"In the medical sense, yeah. But there is more to consider." Richard gives the nape of Lee's neck an affectionate squeeze as he brings their foreheads together. "There's no rush, love. Recklessness is what got us in trouble last time and we vowed not to let that happen again. One step at a time, remember? I'm not going anywhere, I promise. We have a long, long time to do all the things we want."

"And I like that thought very much." Lee winds his fingers through Richard's hair, relishing how much of it there is now that Richard is growing it out a bit for his role. "And maybe it seems like I'm being reckless, rushing into things all at once, but it doesn't feel like that to me. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, because I'm not afraid anymore, and god, Richard, I can't tell you how liberating that is. Make no mistake, I'm happy to wait if you don't feel ready. But if you're having doubts on my account, please, try to let go of that. I'm okay. I'm more than okay, because I looked Eric in the eye today and finally realized that he isn't worth another second of my time. I've given him far too much power for far too long, and it stops now. So if it seems like I'm in a bit of a hurry, it's just because I feel like I let myself miss out on so much for so many years, and - I'm just chomping at the bit to leave the past behind and live life fearlessly for a change. With you."

Realizing that he's just poured out quite an avalanche of words for Richard to digest, all of them heartfelt but possibly not all that coherent, he draws back slightly to gauge how they have been received and is not entirely surprised - he has known this man for a while now - to see a bright shine in Richard's eyes that tells him his message has been perfectly understood.

"Damn, Lee," he sighs, sliding his arm around Lee's waist to draw him close, "every time I think you can't amaze me any more or make me any prouder, you go and prove me wrong." He kisses him, on his cheek, between his brows, and eventually on the mouth. "I love you, my wonderful, remarkable, brave Lee. I don't think I can ever find the words to properly express how much. I'm just an actor, I do a fairly decent job of reciting other people's words, but I'm not so great at crafting my own."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Lee chokes out, because he too unexpectedly finds himself fighting with his emotions. "You're amazing. You have been amazing all this time, dragging my reluctant ass to therapy and working through all the steps with me and quitting the pinot noir on your fucking birthday because your boyfriend happens to be a recovering addict. You suffered through a migraine attack from hell for god knows how long because you'd thrown your medication out just to protect me. Do you think that right there doesn't tell me everything I need to know? You don't need to be William freaking Wordsworth to get the message across. You let me know exactly how you feel because you show me. You show me every single day, and I am so, so grateful. So fucking grateful for you."

Having delivered this impromptu speech without a single pause, all of these deeply felt declarations rushing out of him in one long, uninterrupted breath, it isn't until Lee physically runs out of air that a mild embarrassment catches up with him and he starts to apologize for his unchecked (and profanity-laced) word vomiting, only to be struck speechless and feel the apology wither on his lips when he sees the bright-eyed expression of almost fierce adoration on Richard's face. And that fierceness translates into what happens next, into the way Richard lunges across what little distance there is between them and kisses him even as he reaches up to deftly pluck the condom from his fingers (Lee hadn't even realized he had been waving a rubber around while prattling on and on about his feelings, god, how mortifying) before slowly lying back and pulling Lee on top of him, nudging his legs apart as he does so to create an even better fit.

It always is a glorious feeling, their bodies pressed together front to front like this with not a stitch of clothing between them, just as much now as it was the very first time, and once Richard starts languidly rolling his hips up into Lee's, it isn't long at all before the exquisite friction and the heat and pressure coiling in his belly have Lee gasping for air. And just when he thinks he can't take any more of this without losing his mind, Richard ceases kissing his neck to grate out hoarsely, "So, uh - you said something about riding my cock earlier."

Stomach lurching at the rough quality of Richard's voice, Lee pauses to collect his breath - and his wits, whatever is left of them at this point - long enough to give an equally gritty reply. "Yeah. Fuck, yeah, Richard. Please, baby."

"Sit up then," Richard instructs, reaching for the lube and uncapping the bottle with a flick of the thumb, not taking his eyes off Lee as he pushes himself up sluggishly and straddles Richard's waist, one knee planted on either side. "Let's get you nice and ready first."

Lee groans and braces himself on Richard's chest as he pitches forward slightly, his cock giving an anticipatory twitch when the familiar fruity scent hits his nostrils and a slick, long finger slides between his ass cheeks seconds later. " _Yes_ ," he urges, biting down on his lip as he tries to angle himself into that probing touch, chasing it until, with a maddening little smile, Richard obliges, albeit only partially, because the teasing little circles frustrate Lee more than anything.

"Come _on_ ," he begs, drawing the final consonant out into a long whine and feeling it catch in his throat when Richard finally curves his finger and lets it breach, just a little bit, just enough to gauge resistance and make Lee's spine tense up. "Oh, _fuck_."

"Easy," Richard murmurs, an instruction and a promise somehow rolled up in one, and while he waits for Lee to relax, the fingers of his other hand close around Lee's cock and do what they can to distract him from any discomfort. And god, it works like a charm, Lee too occupied with trying to match the sure, unhurried rolls and twists of Richard's wrist to feel anything but a vague burning sensation as he slowly pushes his finger further in and, blessedly, zeroes in on the right spot, instant pleasure jolting through Lee's gut when he finds it. "That's it," Richard coaxes huskily, increasing the pressure of his finger when Lee grinds his hips down to chase the feeling, "show me what feels good, darling."

Whimpering, Lee starts moving more insistently, rolling his hips in measured, tiny circles as he alternately pushes himself into Richard's hand and clamps down on his finger like he would on his cock, sweat popping out along the length of his spine as fire races through his veins, setting his nerve endings alight. "Another," he begs, and Richard obeys promptly, sliding a second finger in with the first and waiting for Lee's body to accept the added digit before starting to match Lee's movements with deep rotations of his wrist and scissoring motions of his fingers, their precise strokes and the slick sounds accompanying them stoking the fire in Lee's belly to a blazing, white-hot inferno. "Christ," he rasps, opening his eyes and blinking to clear his vision only to find Richard staring up at him with that look, god, that look of pure awe Lee never expected to survive past the first few days, maybe weeks of their relationship. Now, he tentatively dares to hope seeing it every day until the day he dies. "I need you, Rich, please. I need you."

"You have me, Lee," Richard says, squeezing the words out with some difficulty, it seems, eyes steady on Lee's face as he repeats the promise. "You'll always have me." He reaches for the lube again, fingers struggling briefly with the shape of the bottle before closing around it and giving it to Lee. "Do it," he says when Lee gawks at him, answering the unasked question with a nod. "If you're sure."

Lee doesn't feel entirely in control of his own shaking fingers as he opens the bottle, promptly spilling some of the cool liquid on Richard's tummy and getting a sympathetic snicker for his trouble. "Quit laughing, asshole," he says, unable to hold in a giggle himself, "I'm nervous. I mean, I'm sure," he adds, just in case Richard should misinterpret, "but-"

"I know," Richard says, smiling reassuringly, "I am, too, just a little. But it's gonna be okay. I promise."

To make up for the cold splash, Lee takes a generous amount of lube and lets it heat up between his palms before putting himself to the task, willing his nerves to settle a bit as he slicks Richard up root to tip and trying not to dwell on how long he's been thinking about this moment and how incredible it's going to feel, now that he's doing this of his own free will, with someone he loves and longs to be close to in every meaningful way.

They don't waste another word on what is about to happen, Lee bending down for a final kiss before he straightens himself, reaching back for Richard's cock and guiding it into position so the bare head is nestled against his entrance. Then, with just a tiny adjustment of Lee's hips, it slides home relatively easily, Lee biting his lip and reaching for Richard's hand to link their fingers together as he takes him in inch by inch.

"Okay?" Richard checks, the fingers of his free hand drawing soothing patterns on Lee's thigh. When Lee nods, those fingers travel up a bit higher, to his hipbone, and the phoenix' tail feathers curling around it. "Lee, you know that what Eric said today was bollocks, right? Your tattoos are beautiful. You are beautiful, full stop."

Lee smiles. "You said that the first time we were together."

"Did I? Good. Because it's the truth, and I don't want you to ever forget it." Slowly, without taking his eyes off Lee, Richard raises his knees off the bed and gives a deliberate, shallow roll of his hips, even that small movement serving to remind Lee how much he's missed having Richard inside him. Despite the time that has passed since that traumatic night in June, he had expected it to feel completely natural and it does, so it is without a shred of trepidation that he picks up the initiative and starts to move, lifting himself up on his knees and keeping himself poised on the tip of Richard's cock for a few beats before sliding back down on him in one long, controlled movement. He exhales as he does this, finding himself mesmerized by the way Richard's mouth falls open on a breathless moan and his face furrows into an expression of rapture and as Lee settles fully into his lap, fingers twitching on Lee's hip. "Feels good, yeah?" Lee asks redundantly, getting an emphatic nod in reply. "And it's only going to get better, baby. I promise."

They establish a rhythm - that is to say, Lee does, Richard seemingly unable for the time being to do anything but watch slack-mouthedly, at some point even putting his hands above his head and grabbing the pillow as if to use it as an anchor that will keep him afloat in the rising tide of pleasure. The whole picture is one of complete surrender, and Lee can't resist bringing his hand down to his neglected cock and giving it a few strokes, his eyes inexorably drawn to the swallow tattoo (which, he can't help but notice, is shown off to great effect by the work of muscle underneath the skin and the faint sheen of sweat covering it).

"Must be nice to get to lie back and let someone else do all the work," he teases, using the muscles of his pelvis to give Richard's cock a particularly punishing squeeze. It draws a loud moan from Richard's mouth, and Lee can't stop himself from leaning back and bracing himself on Richard's thighs to get that cock to hit him just right. "Don't worry, though - ah, _fuck_ , baby - you'll get your turn in a bit."

"If - if you want." Richard bites the words out, sharp and breathy, clearly having some difficulty articulating as Lee continues to move relentlessly, not giving him a moment's reprieve from the onslaught of raw sexual pleasure. But his reply doesn't satisfy Lee.

"It's not just about what _I_ want." He pauses his movements, grinning when Richard bucks up and whines as though bereft. "Don't tell me you haven't missed this," he goes on teasingly, slowly picking up the pace again and inwardly rejoicing at the way Richard's hands come down again to grasp his hips, keeping them moving. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about fucking me, these last couple months, haven't gotten off thinking about me pinned underneath you with my legs around your waist, begging for your cock." A spark of need flares up inside him at the thought. "Have you or haven't you?"

"Christ, Lee," Richard groans. He doesn't appear to realize it, but it is mostly him controlling the pace now, hands guiding Lee in a firm, steady rhythm that is intensely gratifying. "Of course the answer is yes, to all of those things."

"Then what is the problem?"

"There is none." Richard pushes himself up into a sitting position and pulls Lee close for a gentle yet breathtaking kiss. "You want me to tell you what I want, honestly?" Lee just nods, rendered speechless by the kiss and the tenderness in Richard's eyes. "I would like to fuck you, Lee, very much so. But when I do, I don't want to tease or play games or be rough in any way, some other time certainly but not tonight." He smiles. "I guess what I want would best be described as making love to you, as befits the occasion."

Lee flushes, unexpectedly moved, yet feeling fresh tendrils of arousal tingling down his spine at the same time, Richard's earnest words making lust coil in his belly like snakes in a pit, their impact no less potent than that of the filthiest promises spoken in the throes of passion. "I, uh... yeah, I can get on board with that."

Richard kisses him again. "Now?" he checks, and Lee bites his lip and nods, unembarrassed by his eager response and the want he knows Richard will be able to see in his eyes.

They trade positions, the sheet cool against Lee's skin as he lies back. The blankets have long since been kicked down to the foot of the bed and rendered useless, but the front of Lee's body feels flush, burning under the heat of Richard's gaze as he gets up on his knees and Lee spreads his legs for him to kneel between. Richard, however, is in no rush to comply, crouching down to leave a trail of kisses on Lee's thigh and hip and glancing up at Lee's face to check his reaction before taking his cock into his mouth and sucking, teasingly at first and then a little harder as he bobs his head more insistently.

"I thought you said no teasing," Lee gasps, his spine curving off the bed as he winds his fingers into Richard's hair and lifts his head to watch. A moan escapes him when Richard raises his eyes to Lee's in return and holds his gaze as he licks at the base, drags his tongue up his length and swallows him down once again, the sight so goddamn erotic that Lee wonders if he's going to blow his load then and there.

"I'm not," Richard says, mercifully pulling away with a final kiss on Lee's tattooed hip before scooting up to bring their faces level. "It just so happens I really love going down on you." He nips at Lee's bottom lip affectionately. "Ready, love?"

"God, _yes_ ," Lee breathes, and Richard keeps his promise - with just a small, easy push he is back in, barely even needing the assistance of his fingers to slide home, and it feels so good, so natural and familiar and _right_ , that Lee unexpectedly feels the burn of relieved tears behind his eyelids. Worried that they will startle Richard unnecessarily, he presses his face into Richard's shoulder and blinks until his eyes are dry again, angling his legs up to fold them around Richard's hips and quite possibly bruising his arms with his fingers as Richard starts building a rhythm and Lee holds on as if for dear life, knowing that despite Richard's best intentions, this cannot last long.

"Look at me," Richard scratches, and Lee does as he asks. Their faces are close, close enough for Lee to feel the warmth of Richard's breath puffing against his cheek and register every nuance, every flicker of emotion darting across his face. And Richard appears to be doing the same to him; even as his thrusts gain in confidence, his eyes remains alert, watching Lee attentively so as not to miss a thing. Smiling reassuringly, Lee reaches up and runs a finger through his stubble, enjoying the coarseness of it, the male musk and bitterness of sweat and the solidity of Richard moving on top of him, inside of him. All of his senses are engaged, alive, and still he wants more. "Come in me," he says huskily, forestalling the question he knows will be asked before this is over, "if you want to."

Richard groans and nods, crashing their mouths together in a passionate kiss as he rocks into Lee a little faster. It is pure magic, the way their bodies fit and move together, and Lee never wants it to end, never wants anything to get between them and take this away ever again. And even now he can't stop talking (Richard has often teased him for it, saying he's never been with someone who was such a chattermouth in bed), yakking on and on in Richard's ear about how good it feels, how much he's longed for him and how desperately he needs to come, because the deep rolls and snaps of Richard's hips - steady and controlled at first but gradually getting more frenzied - are going to get him there in no time. Letting both hands wander down Richard's back, fingers mapping the living landscape of spine and ribs and working, coiling muscle under soft, sweat-slick skin, he grabs Richard's ass to draw him in deeper, pulling the cheeks apart slowly. He mostly means to tease, but, encouraged by the moan he hears rumbling in the depths of Richard's chest, he quickly slips a finger into his mouth and brings it down again wet, Richard's breath catching in his throat as he circles his entrance a few times. "Can I?" he asks, waiting for Richard's emphatic _yes_ before slowly pushing in, curving his finger and swiveling it around as he works it in deeper. While the angle is far from ideal, Lee does what he can to match Richard's pace and make him squirm.

"Enough, enough of that," Richard pleads eventually, voice rough with need, and Lee obediently pulls out, smiling up at him. "God, Lee, I wanted to draw this out, make it last, but you're making it very hard."

"Mmm - yes, I can feel that," Lee quips, wiggling an eyebrow and watching the expected blush erupt on Richard's face before he leans down and muffles his laughter against Lee's shoulder. "Silly man, what am I to do with you?"

"Just fuck me," Lee breathlessly insists, reaching for his cock and hiking his legs up higher around Richard's waist for anchorage. "No need to draw it out, baby. You got me so fucking close already. Just fuck me and come in me, it's going to feel so fucking good."

Groaning, Richard raises himself up on his arms and does as Lee asks, eyes trained on Lee's face as he gradually increases the force of his thrusts until he's driving into him with long, intensely satisfying thrusts that stoke the fire in Lee's belly to a blazing, all-encompassing inferno and make his knees squeeze Richard's flanks like a vise. "Like this?" Richard rasps, punctuating the question with another roll of his hips that ends in a sharp, lewd slap of skin against skin, "is this hitting the spot?" And Lee emphatically nods, looking up into Richard's eyes as he works his own cock over with rapid pulls and twists and slowly curves his spine off the bed and continues whispering filthy nothings of encouragement before finally gasping out, "Rich, gonna _come_ -", to which Richard responds with a hoarse "yes, darling, show me" that accelerates things even more, and Lee braces his hand on Richard's chest and burrows his fingers in as he feels all that heat inside surging up and pouring out of him in stringy jets of white. He moans through gritted teeth as they streak across his stomach and chest and Richard moans along with him, watching.

"God, Lee, that's gorgeous. So fucking sexy, love." He seems so entranced that he even forgets to move, but once Lee catches his breath and resumes using it to spur Richard on with more _fuck yeah like that_ s and _give it to me_ s, digging his heels into his ass to try and dictate the pace, that trance is broken, and it doesn't take long for Richard's thrusts to become desperately frantic and his face to take on that expression Lee knows is for him only, the expression of a religious man about to see God. With a great, deep rumble of a groan he pushes in once more and pours out inside of Lee, who gasps at the feeling and drags his fingernails down Richard's sweaty back before he can help himself, digging in a little deeper than is considerate. No, he has absolutely no guilt or doubts about this, no worry about having made the wrong decision. He only feels closeness and security and love, so much love for the man who seems to have expended the last of his strength and now collapses on top of him, sucking air into his lungs as though absolutely starved for oxygen. Carefully avoiding the red streaks left by his fingernails, Lee rubs his back slowly, murmuring soothing words of affection until Richard's breathing normalizes.

This is what belonging feels like, Lee realizes, and he is lapping it up greedily and without shame.

It takes a good long while, but eventually Richard stirs, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering with contentment and unabashed affection as he leans up and brushes a wet lock of hair away from Lee's forehead. "Are you okay? Do you want me to get off?"

"Thought you just did," Lee murmurs with a sleepy smile. He feels amazing, drowsy and utterly relaxed in the wake of what has been a really terrific fuck, and if he were to just slowly drift off into sleep like this, with Richard on top of him and inside of him, that would be just fine by him. Richard, however, has different plans. Chuckling, he leans down to kiss Lee tenderly, brushing his thumb along his jaw and cupping his cheek, teasing him with the tip of his tongue, nudging it against his bottom lip until Lee sighs. That sigh then becomes a disappointed whine when Richard slowly pulls out and gets to his knees, leaving Lee feeling bereft and empty.

And, it has to be said, more than a little sticky.

Richard doesn't seem to mind, however, judging from the way he is staring, awestruck, as he slides a finger down Lee's perineum and touches slightly-sore, relaxed muscle, dipping in ever so carefully to feel the wetness inside. Lee sucks in a breath and holds it inside his chest, the area so sensitive that even the tip of Richard's finger is almost too much to take. "Gently," he cautions, biting his lip. "How's that feel?"

"Amazing," Richard replies hoarsely, in that low, thick voice that betrays sex like nothing else. "I- god, Lee, I want you to fuck me like this."

"Right now?" Lee snickers. "Jeez, stud, give a guy some time to recover."

"Very funny." Richard smiles, but there is also heat in his eyes as he looks up, and a hint of mischief that piques Lee's interest. "Are you up for trying something else new?"

"Like what?" Lee asks lazily. "Would it include me having to exert myself in any way? Because after a fuck like that, baby, frankly I don't think..." His sentence trails off when Richard, to illustrate his intentions, lifts his finger to his mouth and slowly licks the stickiness off, holding Lee's gaze as he does so. The implication is clear.

_Oh. Jesus._

"Are - are you serious?"

A nod. "If you want?"

"I do," Lee gasps, surprising himself with how much and how quickly the idea is turning him on, "god, I do want. I just - I've never done that before."

"Neither have I," Richard reminds him, "so that puts us on equal footing, doesn't it? Don't worry, I'll take it slow. And if it gets uncomfortable or too overwhelming, say the word and I'll stop, okay? That promise you have to make me, Lee."

"I promise," Lee wheezes, clearing his throat before repeating more clearly, "I promise."

"Turn over, then - gently."

Lee does so, settling on his stomach and spreading his legs impatiently, which earns him a knowing chuckle from Richard. It causes him no embarrassment, however, quite the contrary, and he lifts his ass slightly and peeks back over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the action - Richard putting his hands on his buttocks, allowing himself a slow squeeze before digging in with more purpose. The first moan escapes Lee when Richard spreads him gently with his thumbs and holds him open like that, followed by another when Richard leans down and licks him - one long, preliminary stroke with the flat of his tongue. "Okay?" he checks, a low and sultry murmur that makes something twitch to life in the pit of Lee's belly. After that incredible orgasm barely moments ago, this comes as a bit of a shock.

"Okay is one word for it," he replies breathlessly, trying not to show his frustration about the interruption, and he lifts his hips up slightly. "Please, Rich - keep going."

"Sorry in advance about the stubble," Richard murmurs before leaning back in and reintroducing his tongue, making a few more passes along the length of Lee's crack before, finally, zeroing in on his entrance. Loose muscle gives way easily, a low hum issuing from Richard's chest when he tastes his own come inside Lee, while the loud moan ripping from Lee's throat is nothing short of animalistic and Lee has to concede, only moments into the exercise, that the mere thought of what Richard is doing provides an equally as powerful stimulus as the sensations themselves. It is a fast-working and potent aphrodisiac, and he feels pleasure as heady as a vintage wine pulsing through his veins, almost forgetting to breathe as slowly and categorically, Richard starts licking him open, wanting to get it all, and fuck if Lee's cock isn't already filling out once more against the sheet, responding eagerly to the curls, flicks and nudges of Richard's tongue and the maddening scrape of his beard against Lee's tender flesh.

It is unspeakably erotic, almost too much to take, and Lee doesn't have to be reminded to give Richard encouragement - he is making a lot of noise as it is, bracing himself on his elbows as he rides back against Richard's face without shame, inviting - _urging_ \- his tongue deeper.

"Oh, shit, Rich. Shit - shit - shit - so _good_ , baby, Jesus."

When he pulls a pillow to his face, however, in an attempt to smother his moans and spare the neighbors (although it may be a little late for that), Richard promptly stops.

"No, please don't do that," he says thickly, not caving to Lee's protesting whine. "Don't cover up your face and mouth like that. I want to be able to hear you at all times."

His words have an undercurrent of emergency, and Lee corrects himself at once, pushing the pillow away again. "Yeah - of course. Sorry." Knowing not to ignore the subtle yet palpable shift in mood that's just occurred, he props himself up on one elbow and twists his torso around to give the reassurance of eye contact, tangling his fingers into Richard's hair and pulling him closer. "Made a bit of a mess," he says affectionately, spotting a silvery string of come in Richard's beard and catching it with his tongue before pulling away with a mischievous grin. And just like that, the shadow passes as quickly as it emerged. "That was incredible, though, and we are definitely doing this again."

"I do have the occasional good idea." Richard nudges his nose against Lee's cheek and takes the invitation of his parting lips, kissing him. "Tell me what you want, Lee. Is there anything you need?"

Lee hums, acutely reminded of the almost painful throb of his cock against the sheet. "Is a blow job on offer? And a nice, long, lazy cuddle afterwards, if you're up for it."

He feels almost guilty for piling request on request without offering anything in return - then again, Richard did ask - but that guilt quickly passes as he's flipped over and taken down Richard's throat and -

It takes an embarrassingly short time for Richard to bring him to another climax, but Richard doesn't seem to mind, diligent as ever as he strokes Lee's hips and flanks soothingly and takes everything he has to give.

"Kept your beard clean this time," Lee comments afterwards, running his fingers along Richard's jaw. Sweaty skin to sweaty skin, they don't feel any chill, but Richard has partially pulled the blankets back over them all the same. Lee finds he loves these moments, equally as much as he does the sex; he feels loved, secure and nurtured, something he - having known and experienced the exact opposite - will never, _ever_ take for granted.

"Must be all that practice paying off." Pulling back slightly and propping himself up on his elbow to study Lee's face at his leisure, Richard seems to see something on there that catches his attention. "That's a very intriguing smile. Penny for your thoughts?"

"Uh - it's nothing." Lee blushes. "You don't want to know."

"Oh, I think I do."

"I don't know - it's pretty embarrassing."

"All the more reason for me to insist. Fess up, Pace."

"It's just -" Lee's mouth twists into a sheepish grin. "Is it weird that I kinda want to tell Fran about this?"

For a few moments, Richard just stares at him, as if trying to work out whether Lee is joking. Then he bursts out laughing - unrestrained, joyful, deep belly laughter that drives home once more what Lee already knows.

Whatever life decides to throw at them from here on out, they can take it - together - and come out all the stronger for it.

"Not right now, I hope," Richard says, still chuckling, as he leans down to lovingly kiss Lee before pulling him back into his arms. "Because I seem to recall you requested a cuddle - one I have every intention of delivering."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: writing about unprotected sex ≠ advocating it. Be safe, kids.


	42. Warbler

"Twenty minutes to curtain, Mr. Armitage." 

The young stagehand sticking his flushed, grinning head around the door to make the announcement lingers in the doorway for a second to give Richard the thumbs up before retreating. "Break a leg, sir. It's a packed house tonight." 

"Thanks, Billy." 

As the dressing room door quietly closes again, Lee catches Richard's eye in the vanity mirror and smiles. "Well, twenty marks my cue," he says as he straightens his bow tie and plucks an offending piece of lint off the lapel of his otherwise spotless jacket. "I'm gonna head out front and see if I can find Cate and Graham - they said they'd be here early." 

Richard nods and swivels his chair around to face Lee, rubbing his thighs nervously. Dressed only in a soft plush robe for now, his hair ruffled and styled to resemble bed head, he looks the polar opposite of Lee, who's combed and gelled and groomed to perfection and has opted to debut the sleek, jet-black tuxedo he purchased recently for occasions like this one. Underneath the thick layer of stage make-up, Lee suspects Richard has a ghostly pallor, because even though cast and crew are broken in by now and have had the chance to work out the final kinks since previews started over a week ago, this is the premiere - the _sold-out_ premiere of one of the most anticipated and talked-about plays Broadway has hosted this year, to be exact - and every single seat in the house tonight will be occupied, some of them by Very Important People in the industry, whom Philippa would love (and will surely try) to slip her business card before the night is over. 

And Richard, as well as each and every one of his cast mates, is about to go on stage and give them their money's worth a hundred times over. Lee hasn't attended any of the previews, but he has seen enough in rehearsal to reassure him that _A Single Man_ \- a passion project for Bryan Fuller and no less for Richard - is going to be hailed as a triumph. 

That doesn't mean, however, that he isn't vicariously sweating bullets on Richard's behalf, because on the stage, during a live performance, there is always room for errors. That risk is part of the métier, as Richard knows better than anyone, but Lee also knows how high a bar the man sets for himself and how long he has waited for a role like this, for a chance to collaborate with the likes of Bryan Fuller, and the pressure must be immense. However, Lee has made sure to keep a calm front for Richard's benefit, providing support and relaxing massages and boosting Richard's confidence whenever it showed signs of wilting. Thankfully, the latter has not been needed as frequently as he might have feared, even in the final few days leading up to this evening, but he can see that at this very moment, Richard is like a raw exposed nerve, and quite understandably so. Nothing to be done now but walk away and let the man have a few quiet moments by himself to get into the headspace - a routine they established during _Vincent_ 's run, which Lee intends to continue to honor. 

Besides, there is a seat out there with his name on it that he has to go and find. 

"I will see you after, yeah?" Careful not to mess with Richard's make-up, Lee takes his hand and kisses that by proxy. As his boyfriend, he wants nothing more than to tell him he will be perfect, but as a theatre man himself, bred in a world where superstition is just as rampant now as it was in the days of Sophocles and Shakespeare, he knows better than to jinx this make-or-break performance with a rookie blunder like that. There will be plenty of time to gush after the curtain comes down on the final act, and anything he says prior to that will fall on deaf ears anyway, since the man sitting in front of him is already well on his way to metamorphosing from Richard Armitage into a different person altogether. The physical transformation is already complete - not only has his face been aged and his hair been peppered with grey (a look Lee can't help but admit makes his knees buckle), but underneath the robe, the tattoo on his arm has been carefully covered up by camouflage make-up, as it will be for every performance for the next two and a half months. (Richard's make-up artist, heavily inked herself, had admired the piece and told Richard to pass her compliments on to Lee, which he had done when he came home that night, seconds before he got on his knees with a cheeky smile and proceeded to take Lee apart with a fantastic blow job.) And by the time he takes off his robe and steps onto the stage for his opening scene, he will not be Richard but George inside and out, focused and confident even in his nudity, arguably the most vulnerable position for an actor to be in. 

"You'll meet me here after? Go down with me?" Richard asks, for the umpteenth time. His eyes flick across the room, to the closet door and his tuxedo hanging from it. To celebrate the play's official opening, the theatre is hosting a gala afterwards to offer cast and audience a chance to mingle and meet, an event Richard has claimed will be infinitely much more sufferable if Lee weathers it with him (to which Lee promptly replied that no armed force in the world could keep him from doing so, even if, inevitably, all eyes will be on the leading man - and on his plus one). 

Once upon a time, in a past that can hardly be called distant, the thought alone would have been terrifying. Now, the prospect of being seen at Richard's side by so many fills him with nothing but exhilaration and pride. 

"I will." Lee gets up but lets his hand linger in Richard's, a final reassurance in case his words don't quite cut it. "I'm proud of you, whatever happens. And Rich?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't forget to have a little fun, please." Lee answers Richard's look of surprise with a smile. "I know it's work, I know it's Broadway, I know it's Bryan Fuller and a big deal and whatnot, but- when you're standing up there tonight, in god's name, try and savor the moment, okay? Because believe it or not, you've earned this. You've worked really fucking hard to get here and you shouldn't let this night go by without stopping at least once to look around and enjoy the view." It almost feels too bold, giving a consummate professional of Richard's caliber unprompted - and perhaps somewhat unconventional - advice on how to experience what is arguably one of the most defining nights of his career, but he means every word and is thrilled when the creases of worry lift from Richard's face and for a moment, he is entirely Richard again. 

"Thank you, love," he says softly, squeezing Lee's fingers affectionately as he looks directly into his eyes to reassure him he's gotten the message. "I will. I promise." 

Having said all that he wanted to, and confident that he is leaving Richard in a positive frame of mind, Lee departs, and as he is unhurriedly making his way through the backstage area - soaking up the characteristic atmosphere of nervous pre-performance hustle and bustle that always brings back fond memories of his own days in theatre - he chances upon Cory in one of the corridors. Slim and lanky and looking infuriatingly young in his costume of corduroy slacks and a cable knit jumper, obstinate hair gelled and combed into a jaunty, era-appropriate pompadour swirl that somehow enhances the handsomeness of his face he's still growing into, the kid shrinks a bit at the sight of Lee, who is clearly - and somewhat understandably - the last person in the world he wants to see at a time like this. After his and Richard's lunch date - which, from Richard's perspective, hadn't been a date at all - he had kept his word and been completely professional (much to Richard's relief), but he clearly hadn't forgotten his and Lee's first conversation and had made a point of avoiding him ever since. 

It made Lee feel bad, because he honestly has no hard feelings towards Cory whatsoever - really, how could he blame the kid for losing his head a little bit? If it were him, especially at that age, he'd have been no better off - and seeing Cory's white face and wide-eyed expression of terror (a case of premiere fever if Lee ever saw one) promptly makes him decide to bury that rusty old hatchet for good right here and now. 

"Cory." He halts in his tracks and Cory has no choice but to do the same, giving Lee an anxious look that only exacerbates his guilt. Lately he keeps forgetting that some people see his tattoos and assume he's a thug, capable of hurting another person. Being looked at with disgust or with fear - he doesn't know which is worse. To reassure Cory of his good intentions, he extends his hand towards the rookie actor and offers up a reconciliatory smile. After a moment's hesitation, Cory eventually accepts the proffered hand, although his look of suspicion is slow to wane. "Big night for you, kid. Talk about getting thrown in at the deep end, right? Break a leg out there." 

"Thanks, man." Cory reaches up to run nervous fingers through his hair before thinking the better of it, opting to bury his hands deep into his pockets instead. To Lee's surprise, he doesn't scurry off right away but lingers, eyes contemplating Lee as if carefully taking his measure. Despite his misgivings, he seems to have taken Lee's peace gesture at face value and to be glad for a chat. "God, my nerves are shot. You used to be in theatre, right? Does it get any less nerve-wracking with time?" 

"You'll get experience," Lee replies after a moment's thought, "and with experience comes confidence, but premieres will always be scary as hell. Just ask Richard, and he has been doing this for twenty years. It's part of the gig, and that's a good thing. An actor who gets complacent about performing needs to find a different source of income immediately. Frankly, I'd be concerned if you didn't feel like your insides were trying to claw their way out of your mouth right now." 

This time, he gets a tentative grin in response. It changes Cory's face, transforming him from young man to boy in the blink of an eye, and it triggers a strange pang of nostalgia and wistfulness in Lee's chest that he wasn't expecting. It's been a long time since he was this young and chased the same Broadway dream - one that, for him, proved elusive in the end. 

But at the same time, he feels peace at that thought, which hasn't been the case for the longest time. His life has gone down a different path, one that has proven no less interesting or rewarding than the one he had envisioned for himself. Dreams, he has learned, are like seeds; some of them will land in hostile soil and fail to sprout no matter how diligently you water them, while others thrive and produce flowers in every color known to man. More and more, Lee is learning to sit back and enjoy the sunshine in that lush, peculiar little garden he's created for himself. It may be a bit messy, a bit wild even, but it's his and it sure looks a whole lot better now that he's gotten most of the weeds out. 

"Thanks." Mercifully, Cory doesn't seem to have noticed Lee's mood turn. "I appreciate it. I'm still pinching myself that I get to be here and do this, to be honest. It's hard to keep a level head and not be completely intimidated when you're surrounded by so much experience and talent. This production is such a big deal, you know? I feel like the eyes of the entire LGBT community are on us. Expectations are, like, scary high, and if we get it wrong, we'll be vilified. I don't want to go down in history as the rookie that singlehandedly bombed the play Bryan Fuller spent years trying to get to Broadway, going from door to door only to be told time and again that America wasn't ready. And now it's in our hands, and it's up to us to prove the naysayers wrong, and-" 

"Cory, hey," Lee interrupts him gently, before the poor lad starts to hyperventilate from his rambling, and he places a hand on his bony shoulder. "Chill out, buddy, and take a deep breath. I can assure you that each and every one of your cast mates is going to feel that pressure tonight, but don't let it get to you, okay? If you believe in the story, that's enough. Once the curtain comes up, everything else will fall away. And you don't carry this play alone. That's the beauty of theatre, it's a team sport, a collaborative effort. Richard will have your back, as will everyone else, and you'll have theirs. So don't worry and just go have a blast out there. I just told Richard the same thing - god knows he needed the reminder too." He gives Cory's shoulder a reassuring pat before lowering his hand. It is rare for him to initiate touch like this with a virtual stranger, but he did it without thinking and Cory doesn't seem to mind or even to have noticed, for that matter. "Anyway, I don't want to keep you. Just thought I'd wish you well." 

Cory nods gratefully. "Thanks," he parrots for the third time, sheepishly, as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and appears to be mentally grappling for something to add to the conversation. Not an easy feat, given that they haven't really properly talked or spent time getting to know each other before now, and Lee waits patiently, genuinely curious as to what will come out of Cory's mouth next. "Uh - Richard mentioned you went to Texas for Thanksgiving the other week. Sounds like a great trip. You got family there?" 

Lee smiles, surprised but unoffended by the personal question. "I do, yeah. My parents, my sister and her family all live there. In fact, I did too before I moved here. Hadn't seen them in a while, so we had a lot to catch up on." 

This is nothing if not the understatement of the century, not least because what he just called 'a while' in reality had amounted to fifteen years of virtually no contact until a few months ago. Already nervous to begin with, Lee's composure had slowly started to unravel in the days leading up to the visit, to the point that he had almost picked up the phone to call the whole deal off. But he'd persevered, and the plane ride had even been surprisingly enjoyable, in no small part because Richard had held his hand the entire time and smiled at Lee's childlike fascination with the incredible views from the tiny window. Only once they touched down did that feeling of dread return to nestle behind his sternum, heavy and bitter, like a bad heartburn. Not fooled one iota by the false smile Lee conjured up for his benefit, Richard had marched him straight into one of the coffee shops in the main terminal for a nice strong shot of espresso and a thick slice of cheesecake shared between the two of them. They hadn't told anyone which flight they'd be arriving on and that proved the right decision, as it gave them some time to relax after the trip and get settled before facing what was guaranteed to be an emotional reunion. 

They'd picked up their rental car at the airport and checked into their hotel, where Lee wasted no time pushing Richard down on the bed and getting on top of him, demanding that he distract him some more - a command Richard proceeded to obey with fervor. Afterwards, still sweaty and very much naked and sated from the sex, Lee had summoned what little energy he could to roll over and text his parents to let them know they had landed and would be over in an hour or so - only to then drag Richard into the bathroom to try out the shower, kissing his neck and teasing him in all kinds of ways until Richard gave in and obligingly fucked him up against the tiled shower wall, Lee's legs securely twined around his waist while the warm spray of water cascaded down their bodies. 

Once the suite had been sufficiently christened - Richard preferred 'defiled' - they eventually made it to Lee's parents' house with a bottle of Merlot they had no intention of partaking in themselves and gifts - Lee preferred 'bribes' - for Hannah and Olivia, who Lee was convinced would take one look at him and run off to hide behind their mommy's skirts. It was a persistent fear that had taken root in his mind and proven difficult to weed out, despite even Richard's repeated reassurances that those girls would learn to love him just as unreservedly as he loved them. 

As he walked up to the house he knew from his childhood, Lee felt the fears the warm shower water had washed away return ten times stronger, and he didn't know what he would have done had Richard not been there next to him, a comforting presence even when he did not speak. Thankfully his mom, who had clearly been on the lookout, came running out of the house before he'd even had the chance to ring the doorbell, wrapping him in a hug and starting to weep as she clutched at him like she would never let go voluntarily. The way it made him feel reminded him of when he was very young and nothing had been more comforting after a bad dream than a cuddle from mom, and in some ways, hadn't the past fifteen years sometimes felt like a bad dream as well? Living in the bitter belief he was a disgrace to his family, pathetically stalking his sister's Facebook to see sporadic snippets of her life she chose to make public, always too chicken to let her know he was there, watching from afar. 

He didn't even try to pretend he wasn't crying as well, and he'd quickly passed Richard the gift bag he was carrying so he had his arms free to reciprocate, telling her 'it's okay, mom, it's okay, I'm sorry' while his dad joined them on the garden path a moment later, a little greyer and bigger around the waist than he remembered but still very much the same man in every other way. "Hi, dad," he choked out just as his father stepped in and hugged him with bear strength, reassuring him without saying a word that yes, he was very much welcome and wanted here. It was only when he emerged from both his parents' embraces that Lee got around to introducing Richard, who'd kept a discreet distance and observed the family reunion with a warm little smile, arms curled around the hoard of gifts they'd brought over from New York. 

Lee's mom ushered them all inside and Richard once again made himself scarce while Lee and his parents sat down privately to talk things through, arguably the hardest part of the visit and the one Lee had dreaded most. They talked for a good long while - about the story in _People_ , which had been a difficult but enlightening read for them, about Lee's recovery and brief relapse the previous year, about how maddeningly slow and disheartening the process had sometimes been. To get everything out of the way, Lee even tiptoed into Eric territory with them, but even though he glossed over the disgusting details his mother still cried and his father grew very pale and quiet, but the kind of quiet that betrayed deep emotional turbulence behind that façade. Lee was sorry to have this conversation with them, but they had a right to know what had caused him to be so broken that cutting off all contact and almost carving out an entirely new identity for himself seemed like the only way to move forward. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm sorry for the hurt I caused. But after walking away from Juilliard, and everything else, I carried a lot of self-hatred around, and the thought of facing your disappointment on top of that... I thought it would be easier for all of us if I just stayed away." 

"No, Lee," his mom protested emphatically, and at this point his dad had broken his silence, assuring Lee the fault wasn't his alone - they too had let him down, he told Lee as he became visibly emotional, as they should have been on a plane to New York at the first signs of trouble, tracked Lee down wherever he was and personally checked him into rehab, preferably close to home in Texas where they could keep an eye on him. Instead they had looked on from afar while his life fell to pieces, not realizing how bad things had gotten until it was too late. 

"One day," he said, "hopefully soon, I would like to meet your friend Ian, shake his hand and thank him personally for what he's done, for being there for you when your dad wasn't. If he'll even want to meet me, that is." 

"Of course he will, dad," Lee assured him, from the bottom of his heart. "And you will meet him, I promise. You guys have to come to New York and meet everyone, see the apartment and the shop and have dinner at our favorite Italian place." The mere thought got him excited - he was proud of the life he lived now, and he wasn't ashamed anymore to let his parents share in it. 

"And we will, Lee," his mom told him softly. She had held his hand for most of the conversation, never taking his eyes off him, and the affection in her gaze was all he'd ever longed for without even realizing it. "I would so love to meet your friends. I feel like I know them already. The same goes for Richard, of course. He seems like such a lovely, kind man." 

"He is," Lee said, his heart doing a little bounce of pride at the admission. "I owe him so much, mom, you have no idea. I've never met or known someone so wonderful and giving." 

"I'm glad, sweetheart." She smiled like only a mother could at seeing her child happy and loved. "Are you sure you two wouldn't rather stay here tonight? We could put you up in one of the guest rooms, we have the space." 

"I know, mom, but I think this is best for now." He squeezed her hand slightly. "Sweet of you to offer, though. Maybe next time, okay? And only if you're sure. I mean, having your son and his male lover stay under your roof might not go over so well with some of the neighbors or your Bible study group." As soon as these last words left his mouth, he wished he'd phrased them a little more tactfully, hoping she'd take them as the joke they were intended to be. 

"Well, it's none of their business," she said, with more vehemence than was characteristic of her. "And besides, honey, Texas hasn't stood still since you were in high school. I know we're not New York, but I promise you, no one in our family cares that you're gay. Except maybe Uncle Jerry, who's stuck in the Stone Age, and I already told him to either accept it or go fuck himself." 

He snorted, shocked to hear his devout, church-going mother utter such language, and dissolved into a fit of giggles. " _Mom!_ " 

"I'm sorry, Lee, but that's how I feel. I'm proud of you, Dad and I both are, and I won't let Uncle Jerry or anyone else for that matter speak badly of you." 

"That means a lot to me," he said sincerely, because it was the truth. "Thanks, mom." 

Blinking suspiciously quickly, she flicked at a piece of lint on her skirt and straightened up to glance at the clock. "Well, why don't I go and make us all some tea? Where did Richard go off to, by the way? Do you think he'd like a cuppa?" 

"He's from England, mom. I've yet to hear him turn down a cup of tea - that stuff is practically fuel to him." 

His response broke the tension, and she giggled, like a young girl. "Right then, why don't you go find Richard and ask him to join us, so we can start getting to know him a bit better too? Your sister should get here soon with Nick and the girls." 

Not long after they had settled in with tea and a tray of home-baked biscuits Lee's mom encouraged them to dig into, Ann arrived - without her husband Nicholas and the two girls, who had gone to a nearby playground to give the estranged siblings some time to reconnect without the distraction of two kids clamoring for mommy's attention. Tall and slim, she looked like a younger version of their mother, and she froze in the doorway when she saw Lee, covering her mouth and staring at him like he were a phantom, unable to move as he got up from the couch and crossed the room towards her with a tentative smile. 

"Hey Annie," he greeted her in an unsteady voice. The last time they saw each other she had barely been sixteen, and god, what an ass he'd been for allowing so much time out of their lives to go by without so much as a Christmas or birthday card, convinced - terrified - that she'd reject him for the way he'd turned out. "Good to see you, sis." 

"Oh my god." Finally breaking from her paralysis, she flung herself at him, hugging him with surprising force and only pulling back to touch his face and gaze at him as if she couldn't believe it was really him standing in front of her. "Look at you," she murmured over and over, her fingers moving cautiously along his jaw, "I can't believe how handsome and grown up my big brother is. Where did that skinny baby-faced kid go? You have an actual beard now, when did that happen?" 

"Hey," he protested with a grin, feigning offence, "I was shaving by the time I moved out, thank you very much." 

"Sure you were - once a week maybe," she teased, and they both started laughing at the same time, surprised - and relieved - at how naturally they were able to pick up the old dynamics of their relationship. "Come on, let's sit down. I'm shaking like a leaf." 

With five adults, the sitting area was getting a bit crowded, and without being asked Richard duly got up from the two-seater to yield his place to Ann and take the opposite chair, using the opportunity to nab another biscuit from the tray, in a none too subtle way that was noticed by all. 

"Hello," Ann beamed, looking from him to Lee and back as a delighted smile lit up her already radiant face even more, "is this him? The mystery man you've been going on and on about?" 

Lee nodded. "Yeah, this is Rich," he proudly confirmed, smirking when Richard, after a moment's hesitation, saw no other option but to shove the whole biscuit into his mouth to free up one hand to hold out to Ann, who seemed to melt a little at his mortified blush. 

"Ah, come here, you're getting a hug too." She had always had an outgoing personality, so Lee wasn't really surprised to see his sister curl her arms around Richard's neck and hug him like he was another long-lost brother returned home. "It's so lovely to meet you, Richard. Your first visit to Texas?" 

"I-" Realizing belatedly that he still had his mouth full, Richard chewed and swallowed, surreptitiously wiping his beard to rid it of any crumbs. By the time Ann pulled away, he had collected himself somewhat and was able to respond, "I must admit it is." 

"Well, we're thrilled to have you - both of you." She gleamed at Lee, who couldn't help but grin back, lightheaded with happiness and relief. Taking the seat Richard had just vacated, she patted the available spot next to her. "Come, sit down, tell me about your life." 

_Well._

Needless to say that they'd barely begun to scratch the surface of things by the time Nicholas arrived half an hour later with the two girls in tow, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked from their antics at the playground. They were shy at first, unsure of the two strange men in grandma and grandpa's living room, but the gifts - a puzzle, a fingerpaint kit and the two softest stuffed bunnies Lee had been able to find in the greater New York City area - did their part in breaking the ice. Olivia was almost two now, happily waddling to and fro and getting her hands on things that generally weren't meant to be handled by a toddler, and Hannah a few weeks shy of five, quiet and bright and perfectly content to sit on the floor and nibble on a biscuit as she put together the puzzle piece by piece. 

Lee thought they were the most precious little girls he had ever met, but he didn't want to be the creepy over-familiar uncle and had decided beforehand that he'd keep a back seat to let them warm up to him in their own time. As it turned out, twenty minutes was about all the time they needed to decide that he didn't present a threat, and to discover that they could clamber and crawl all over him without him kicking up a fuss - in fact, he seemed to enjoy it as much as they did. 

(Lee had feared they'd be intimidated by his many tattoos, but they either didn't notice or took them at face value, far more interested in the things he could do with paper and pencil, Ann shaking her head fondly at his indefatigable willingness to sketch Disney princesses for them to color in and squeal at. He just couldn't get enough of their delighted faces, and by the end of their three-day visit, it was Hannah herself who requested that 'Uncle Lee' tuck them into bed and read them a bedtime story, a privilege Ann assured him was only granted a very select few.)

The next day, after a long, lazy sleep-in and a luxurious breakfast for two delivered to their room - a romantic surprise secretly arranged by Richard, who appeared distracted by the sight of Lee in one of the too-short fluffy bathrobes that had been laid out for them upon arrival and helpfully peeled it off him on the way to the shower afterwards - they'd taken their rental car for a spin around town, visiting some of Lee's favorite haunts from his youth with Richard at the wheel and Lee giving directions, providing running commentary and pointing things out along the way. Prior to the trip, they'd sat down and compiled a list of tourist attractions they were interested in seeing and they managed to squeeze several into the day, getting their geek on at the Space Center, going for a romantic stroll at the Arboretum and even ticking off [one of the Van Goghs](https://www.mfah.org/art/detail/1550?returnUrl=%2Fart%2Fsearch%3Fq%3Dgogh) on Richard's bucket list at the Museum of Fine Arts. (Back when he was doing research for _Vincent_ , combing out museums during the day and slowly getting drunk by himself at one of Amsterdam's gay bars at night - trying to look mysterious rather than lonely as he gave his eyes freedom to roam and make contact with interesting prospects - he'd made a half-serious promise to himself to see as much of Van Gogh's monumental oeuvre in person as he could, a mission he'd become more and more serious about as time went by.)

To Lee, as strange as it was to be back on his home soil and be confronted with the places and sights that were important to him all those years ago, before the accident turned his world on its head and led him down a path of self-destruction, it was a relief to find that the crushing sense of regret he had feared would overwhelm him never actually materialized. It was probably fair to say he felt a bit wistful, as any person would when revisiting the once so familiar backdrops of one's youth and finding them changed - or, even more bewildering, painfully _un_ changed - but it paled in comparison to the joy and sense of pride it gave him to share this journey with Richard, to show him where he came from and to watch, for the first time, the once fiercely protected boundaries between his old life and the new melt away and the two blend together like they had never been meant to be separate entities in the first place. 

He had been so immersed in his role as tour guide that he hadn't even felt a moment's anxiety about being trapped in a strange car all this time - they had been making practice runs in Richard's car back at home, gradually increasing the distances until Lee no longer felt suffocated by the protective press of the seatbelt strapped across his chest - until Richard unexpectedly pulled into a quiet street, stopped the car and asked Lee, very gently, if he wanted to have a go at driving. 

After fifteen years of shunning the activity like the plague, haunted by the nightmarish sounds of shattering glass and twisting metal that are imprinted on his brain, it had been on the tip of Lee's tongue to refuse (and he was fairly sure that Richard half expected him to do so, and wouldn't insist), but damn it, Richard just had a way of making him feel like there wasn't a thing in the world he couldn't do. 

So they switched places and Lee, with some trepidation but encouraged by the fact that there was very little traffic about, drove them around the block at a snail's pace - and then, confidence bolstered by how smoothly it went, a second time just for the fun of it, Richard seemingly completely at ease with being driven around by someone who'd wracked not only the last car he drove in but also his spine over ten years ago. 

Before that accident happened, though, he used to love to drive, and maybe in time he could learn to enjoy it again. 

Afterwards, with Richard back at the wheel, they'd picked up some snacks and drinks and driven to the seafront, parking the car in a quiet spot overlooking the water and pushing their seats back to enjoy their impromptu picnic in the cozy warmth of the car on this November afternoon, companionably slurping away at their milkshakes. And Lee, still rushing on happy adrenaline from his successful little turn around the block, may or may not have reached over at some point and squeezed Richard's thigh, fingertips tracing the inside seam of his jeans as he began sliding his hand upwards in a slow, purposeful caress. Thoughts of how Richard had done him in the shower the day before - grunting against his shoulder as he held him pinned up there, keeping the rotations of his hips slow and steady until Lee's hoarse pleas eventually shattered his self-restraint and he gave in, fucking him relentlessly until he fell apart on his cock - made his whole body ache for more of the same, but since they were at least half an hour's drive from the privacy and comfort of their hotel room, he'd happily settle for something marginally less acrobatic in the interim. 

"Lee." Richard was eyeing him with a suspicious curl of his mouth. "What exactly are you doing?" 

Lee blinked at him none too innocently, fingers resting comfortably just below the junction of Richard's legs. "I thought that would be obvious." 

"Hmm, it is rather. And as much as I approve of your train of thought, I don't much fancy being arrested for public lewdness and sleeping on a bunk bed in a Texas cell tonight when we have a perfectly comfortable bed back at our hotel." 

"Don't be dramatic, Rich. Anyone walking by would know better than to look inside a parked car around here. Lots of people bring their dates here in hopes of getting lucky, and all the locals know it." 

"I bet all the cops know it, too." 

Laughing, Lee had turned in his seat and unfastened Richard's seatbelt - god only knew why he was still wearing it - before deftly popping the button of his jeans and dragging the zipper down almost teasingly. "Relax, Rich, I was kidding. By all means keep an eye out if you're concerned, but I'm pretty confident in my ability to make you come before any police officers or perverts come knocking on the window." 

"Damn it, Lee, that's not fair," Richard breathed, eyes darting nervously between the mirrors and his crotch as Lee delved into his jeans and pulled out his swelling cock, balls too. "You know how riled up you get me talking like that." 

Smirking triumphantly, Lee shifted back against the car door as far as he could - with this little room to work in, he might as well put what he had to good use - and bent forward and down to get closer to where he needed to be. For all of Richard's objections, he was mostly hard already and raring to go. 

"You're bonkers, Lee, come on. You'll hurt your back-" Richard let his token protest trail off in the middle of his sentence, as if even he could hear how feeble it sounded. 

"Baby, as much as I appreciate the concern, out of all my body parts my wonky back should be the last thing on your mind right now," Lee countered teasingly. "Besides, I'm sturdier than you give me credit for. I think that was sufficiently proven when you were nailing me up against the wall in the shower yesterday. You didn't hear me complain then, did you?" 

The memory - and to some extent, Lee's choice of words - made Richard's ear glow bright red in the most delightful way. For as long as Lee would live, he didn't think he'd ever see a starker contrast - or one he loved more - than that between the Richard who, when caught up in the heat of the moment, whispered the filthiest things and fucked him until his legs gave out, and the man blushing about it the day after. "Jesus, Lee." 

Lee grinned. "True or not?" 

"True." Biting his lip, Richard returned Lee's questioning gaze with a nod of assent and closed his eyes, head lolling back against the headrest as Lee slowly, teasingly dragged his tongue up his length, grasped the base firmly to hold it steady as he slid down on him with purpose. Richard gave a loud gasp at that first contact, a sound of surprised euphoria that seemed like a somewhat extreme response so early on in the proceedings, until Lee realized that his tongue and mouth were cold from the chilled milkshake he'd been sipping at before. "Feels good?" he asked as he pulled off with a smirk, and when Richard nodded an emphatic _yes_ , eyes still closed, he reached for the cup - which he'd perched on the dashboard earlier - and took a fresh sip, keeping some of the icy slush on his tongue as he went down on Richard again and took him as deep as he could, the loud groan Richard let out this time sending a powerful thrill through his gut. He was sure he'd never tire of the sounds Richard made when Lee sucked his cock like there wasn't anything else he'd rather be doing, or of the way Richard's fingers inevitably curled into his hair and held on - but always gently, following instead of guiding, and never forcing something Lee wasn't ready or willing to give. 

Under the right circumstances, in the privacy of their home, Lee loved taking his time for this, testing the boundaries of Richard's endurance with patience and relish, but this was neither the time nor the place for lazy experimentation and endless teasing. Besides, he'd made a bold promise he intended to keep. So he set to the task with diligence and let his hand and mouth work expertly together to extract more delirious moans from Richard's throat, humming deep in his chest as he sucked and worked his mouth industriously and rolled Richard's balls in the palm of his hand and the taste of strawberries met with tangy precome on his tongue, maintaining a steady, demanding pace throughout until Richard grunted Lee's name by way of warning and his hips snapped up sharply, white-knuckled fingers gripping the steering wheel as he went over the edge with a harsh intake of breath followed by a deep guttural moan. 

"God, babe," Lee sighed blissfully once he'd swallowed everything and pulled off with a parting lick, and he gently rubbed his cheek against Richard's shaft while Richard sagged back in his seat, whimpering plaintively at the roughness of Lee's stubble chafing against hyper-sensitized skin. "I love sucking your cock more than anything." 

"Damn you, Pace," Richard muttered, the words belied by a smile as he tucked himself back into his pants with clumsy fingers, "expecting me to drive a car responsibly after you leave my legs shaking like this." 

Lee had snickered at that and lifted his cup, gratified when Richard's eyes latched on to his mouth sucking idly at the straw and choosing to believe that his spent cock was twitching enviously at the sight. He grinned, and Richard blushed when their eyes met, realizing that Lee had read him like a book. "Don't worry," he said, as he took Richard's hand in his and laced their fingers together slowly. "Now that it looks like we're not going to get arrested anytime soon, we can hang out here and chill a bit longer before we're supposed to meet Ann, Nick and the kids at Chuck E. Cheese's." 

Upon reflection, Lee decides, their three days in Houston had been an unusual but successful blend of family reunion and romantic getaway, the latter being especially welcome because lately they hadn't spent as much time together as a couple as they would have liked. Richard's schedule had become ever more demanding as the first preview dates approached and promotion for the play picked up speed, and Lee too had been picking up more shifts to bring in a welcome extra dime - airline tickets to London didn't come cheap, and neither did the growing hoard of Christmas gifts for in-laws he'd never met but intended to spoil rotten. 

(At first, Richard had teased him for his lavish spending, until he realized the thing driving Lee to buy all these gifts was a desperate wish to be liked and accepted by Richard's family, whom he imagined to be proper, sophisticated people and very, very British to boot. Even though they already knew what he did for a living, there was always that chance they'd take one look at him and decide that a recovering addict covered in tats did not an appropriate addition to their family make. Richard, ever the optimist, tried his best to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about and that they would love him no matter what, words Lee genuinely tried to take to heart. Yet he spent a small fortune on gifts all the same, not only for Richard's parents but his brothers and their families, even the family dog, in hopes of endearing them to the strange, unconventional American who desperately wanted to get in on their holiday celebrations and feel like he belonged.) 

However, Lee does not feel remotely inclined to share any of these deeply personal memories - from the relief he'd felt when his mom first hugged him to the arm Richard had slipped around his shoulders as they were watching the sun set on their last day in Houston from the observation deck on the 60th floor of the JP Morgan Chase Tower, a touristic hotspot that on paper had seemed cheesy but turned out to be one of Lee's personal highlights of the trip, one he wouldn't soon forget - with Cory or with anyone, for that matter, preferring to keep them close to his heart and enjoy them privately, ideally when he is alone and has nothing to distract him from doing so. And with Richard about to go on stage, now is definitely not that time. 

With a final few words of encouragement to Cory, he takes his leave of the nervous debutant and hurries along the corridor. He spots several more of Richard's cast mates going about their final preparations, even catches a glimpse of Bryan who is wearing his trademark cheerful grin and raises his hand in greeting. Over the course of the last few months, the quirky director with the larger-than-life personality had become a friend to them both - he had even been over for dinner at their little apartment and the three of them had talked far into the wee hours, not just about their shared passion for theatre but about all manner of things. In addition to being a creative genius, Bryan was a brilliant conversationalist, warm-hearted and witty, and Lee had rarely had a more enjoyable evening, pinching his arm more than once to convince himself that this - chewing the fat with _Bryan Fuller_ (he couldn't help italicizing the name in his mind) - was reality and not some bizarre dream. He tried to stay cool-headed about it but failed spectacularly, fawning over his longtime idol like a star-struck teenager, even though Bryan had been gracious enough not to call him out on it and Richard assured him afterwards that he hadn't noticed anything. 

He reaches the lobby, where he doesn't find Cate or Graham but Philippa, who is clutching her purse nervously and for once isn't working the room for new opportunities (that will come later, no doubt, after the play). But the fact that she is here tonight - which is by no means part of a manager's job description - looking like an anxious mother on her child's first day of school, shows how personal Richard's success is to her, and Lee greets her warmly with a kiss on the cheek. "Philippa, you look exquisite." **  
**

"You too, Lee." She reaches up to wipe off the smudge her lipstick has left on his cheek before stepping back to give him a proper second look. "Very dapper indeed. That tux is a good look on you." 

"The monkey suit?" Lee laughs, reaching up unthinkingly to check his bowtie for the gazillionth time. He had tied it himself this time, albeit under Richard's close scrutiny, the almost palpable heat of his attentive gaze causing Lee's fingers to tangle and mess up several times before getting it right. He hopes proficiency will come with practice. "Yeah, it's slowly growing on me. Only for occasions such as this, though. By the time I get home tonight, I'll be glad to take it off." _  
_

Or better yet, have it be taken off him along with everything else, but he doesn't feel compelled to share that cheeky thought with Philippa, who distractedly rearranges her flawlessly coiffed hair. "Have you seen Richard?" she asks him, faux-casually. "How is he? Did he remember to bring his tux?" 

"You're even worse than Richard," he teases her, remembering all too clearly the panicked look that had appeared in Richard's eyes a few days earlier when it occurred to him that he still had to dig up his tux and get it dry cleaned in time for the premiere (only to be replaced by an entirely different expression when Lee pulled him into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe to triumphantly reveal said tux already fresh from the dry cleaner's, a surprise Lee had planned and carried to fruition in complete secrecy and for which Richard had thanked him with more than words - quite a bit more). "He's fine, Phil, don't worry. He's fired up and ready to go." 

"I'm not worried," she says mechanically, only to follow up her knee-jerk lie with a self-conscious giggle. "Oh, what the heck. Who am I kidding, right? Fine, I'm a nervous wreck, but only because I know how much this play means to Richard. I don't think I'm exaggerating if I say that he asked me to get him a role like this the first time he stepped into my office years ago and he hasn't stopped bugging me about it since. If he doesn't get good press for this one... god, he's going to be crushed." 

She looks so wrecked with preemptive agony on Richard's behalf that Lee steps closer and puts an arm around her shoulder. "I know, Phil, but that's not going to happen. Trust me on this one. Has Richard ever let you down?" 

She gives him a grateful smile back. "Thank you, Lee. Your support means a lot to Richard, I do know that. I've said it before, but it bears repeating - I've seen such a change for the better in him since he's known you. At the time of _The Crucible_ , I was really rather worried about him. The play was a huge critical success, it made him a star, but there were times when I thought he was barely taking it in, like he wasn't really present for it. Don't tell him I said this, but - I think he was dreadfully lonely at the time, missing someone to talk to when he got home after a show. But since he's been with you, it's like he's found direction, purpose. Confidence, too." 

A blush of pleasure heats his face up like a furnace. "That is exactly what he has given _me_ , Phil. That and so much more. I don't think I've met a kinder, more generous guy, ever. Even if he does drive us both nuts sometimes." He says it with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye, and Philippa laughs, knowing exactly what he means. Over the course of the past few weeks, as the date of the premiere came barreling closer like a freight train at full speed and the attention from the media heated up, Richard had had to invest more and more time into parrying questions from a handful of outlets speculating openly about his sexual orientation. Although not one to complain about the price of fame, Richard had grown increasingly resentful of the situation, confessing to Lee one morning that he felt caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, it was clearly nobody's fucking business who he dated and it was mind-boggling to him that some reporters felt justified in thinking otherwise, but on the other, he knew he couldn't let the matter lie and expect to show up at the premiere with Lee without it causing some kind of stir. _A Single Man_ was not some small off-Broadway production like _Vincent_ had been; any play helmed by one of the most colorful and influential people in the industry (who had a whopping budget the likes of which other directors could only dream of at his disposal and wasn't coy about squeezing dry every penny) was practically a guaranteed blockbuster before the first tickets even went on sale. Audience, critics and press would come flocking to see for themselves if Bryan Fuller's latest lived up to the hype, and there was absolutely not a glimmer of a chance Richard and Lee would be able to fly under the radar the way they had at Cherry Lane. Unless Lee stayed away or they pretended in public not to be a couple - neither of which were options as far as they were concerned - the fact that Richard was in a relationship with another man would become public knowledge either way. And while this fact in itself wasn't a cause for concern, the thought that his love life and not the merits of the play might snatch headlines weighed heavily on Richard's mind. More than once, Lee had woken up in the middle of the night to find Richard either tossing and turning or missing from the bed altogether, having given up on sleep and retired to the living room with only a mug of hot milk and his thoughts for company. Sometimes Lee would be able to coax him back to bed and cuddle him to sleep, but the next day Richard would be at it again, asking himself over and over how this delicate situation should be handled. Over the course of a couple of weeks, he went over the myriad of possible scenarios with Lee and Philippa what seemed like a thousand times, putting their patience with him to the test with his inability to pick one and commit to it. 

Lee had been almost tirelessly supportive and sympathetic for most of it, because he could see so very clearly how much Richard's predicament gnawed at him and coming out on such a public stage would be a daunting prospect for anyone, but - he was no saint. To his regret, there had been one moment where he'd gotten so exasperated with the constant going in circles and his own inability to be of any real help that he'd lost his patience for a second, throwing up his hands in frustration as he snapped, "For Christ's sake, Rich, _enough_ with the back and forth, you're being fucking enraging. Please do us all a favor and make up your damn mind already before I put my head through a wall." He didn't mean it, of course, and crushing remorse followed his outburst almost instantly, Richard's sad expression following him out of the room as he left to blow off steam. Barely three minutes later, he had gone back in to make amends for his unnecessarily harsh reaction, his heart breaking with guilt when Richard in turn tried to apologize for being such an indecisive, self-doubting little shit. 

"Enough, Rich," he'd told him, as he took his face between his hands and kissed him gently, apologetically. "You'll give yourself a migraine if you keep stressing yourself out like this, and that will do no one any good." He kissed him again, a little less innocently this time, and slowly raked his fingers through his hair. "You know what you need?" 

Richard shook his head, a tentative smile quirking the corners of his mouth - a little ray of sunshine breaking through the cloud of misery. "Valium?" 

The risqué joke caught Lee by surprise, but he burst out laughing all the same. If there was one thing they had learned over the course of these turbulent few months together, it was to maintain a sense of humor even in trying times - or perhaps especially in trying times. "No, babe, something much better and much more relaxing than that. And mind you, that's coming from someone who used to get his kicks snorting the stuff up his nose. Come on." Grinning at Richard's expression of open-mouthed shock, he'd taken his hand, led him to the bedroom and made sure that for the next hour at least, Richard's only thought was of Lee's oily fingers attentively kneading the tension from his body muscle for muscle before finally slipping down the cleft of his ass and pushing in slowly but confidently, and Lee knew that he had succeeded in his objective when he angled his fingers to the front and Richard responded by pushing his hips up and back to meet him stroke for stroke, the pillow beneath his head doing very little to muffle the crescendoing litany of desperate grunts and similar noises. He knew he wouldn't always be able to make things better with sex, but that afternoon it sure seemed to work a charm for Richard's strained nerves. 

"You know," Lee suggested afterwards as they lay curled into one another, enjoying the lazy uncomplicated aftermath of afternoon sex and the warmth of the sun filtering through the blinds, "we could always ask Dean if he still has those pics he took of us at Coney Island. Or if you really want to come out with a bang, we can probably arrange for something a little more scandalous than that. Call the sleaziest gossip rag we can think of and get papped making out at Washington Square Park or something. Or a tell-all interview including a sexy photo shoot with a gay men's magazine." 

To his delight, Richard picked up on the lightheartedness and gave a low, sleepy chuckle in response. "Not helpful, Pace," he'd murmured affectionately, "you bloody idiot." 

"That's too bad," Lee'd said, feigning disappointment. "I think I'd enjoy trading places and seeing how you do in front of a camera." 

After this conversation, Richard's unrest abated and things remained quiet for a while, until he had unexpectedly called Lee at work a few days later, sounding so unnaturally cheery that Lee had known at once that something was up. "What's happened, Rich? I thought you'd be sitting for your interview with _NY On Stage_ right about now." Considered one of the most influential and respected magazines in the industry, _NY On Stage_ was a biweekly that featured in-depth articles on current and upcoming theatre productions and the actors that starred in them. It was practically the leading authority on all things Broadway, and Philippa had been all a-twitter with excitement when she called Richard to confirm the interview was a go. 

"I was until about two minutes ago." 

"And?" Lee prodded, closing the office door behind him for some privacy. "How did it go?" 

 "Uh, well..." The nervous laughter he heard on the other end piqued Lee's suspicion even more. "Let's just say that from now on you won't have to listen to my constant dithering anymore, and that's good news, right?" 

"Oh god, Rich, what did you do?" 

Slowly, much too slowly for Lee's liking, Richard proceeded to explain how, after an hour-long, pleasant interview built around a series of relevant and thought-provoking questions about his career, past projects and thoughts on the new play that had thrust the name Richard Armitage back into the limelight after a few months of quiet, the female reporter had changed tack towards the end and tried to round off the interview on a lighter note. 

"For any actor who takes their craft as seriously as you do," she said, "it must be frustrating to go online or open a magazine and see yourself being referred to as Broadway's hottest bachelor and the play you're clearly very passionate about as one that, according to some, could be harmful to your career because of the subject matter. You are notoriously protective of your private life and have said in previous interviews that fame makes you uncomfortable, yet this project will, and already has increased your public profile significantly. How do you deal with the scrutiny and speculation from the media clamoring for personal details and scandal?" 

It was a question Richard could have answered in a variety of evasive and perfectly acceptable ways, but instead - put at ease by the woman's intelligent questioning and friendly smile - he had opened his mouth and spilled the information he'd kept such a tight lid on in his previous dealings with the press, especially these last few months. 

"Yeah, it's been, ah, an interesting couple weeks, to say the least," he'd said, calmly and thoughtfully, "and I won't pretend to understand why some of your esteemed colleagues seem more fascinated with my personal life than the work I've done and the story we're trying to put out there for people to enjoy, but I try not to let it affect me personally and I certainly won't let it influence my career choices. I'm an actor - all I hope to achieve is that people will buy a ticket and have a lovely evening and ideally go home contemplating the important issues we're trying to address. The character of George, I can promise the public, is infinitely more interesting and compelling than some lad from Leicestershire called Richard Armitage. In regards to your question - I deal with it by trying to keep a sense of humor about it all, resisting the urge to google myself, and by focusing on the creative process we're going through right now. It's been great, and working with Bryan Fuller and his team is a chance of a lifetime, but we do make long hours. Thankfully, I'm incredibly lucky to have a solid support system to fall back on. Especially since my entire family lives in the UK, so it would get lonely out here without the friends I've made on this side of the pond. But I'm particularly grateful for my partner's support. He has a background in theatre himself, so he knows the perks and pitfalls of the job from his own experience. He helps keep me grounded." 

By the time he finished blathering, he realized the woman was gaping at him incredulously, clearly uncertain as to whether he had just misspoken or blithely volunteered the information other journalists had painstakingly - and unsuccessfully - tried to pry out of him. 

Richard however just grinned. He had half expected panic to set in the minute he let the cat out of the bag, but with The Great Confession finally out of the way, it was only relief he felt. "Oh, you can write that down, by the way," he'd told her - idle as you please, like he hadn't just stormed out of the closet guns blazing - and he pointed at her notepad, "that was on the record." 

She cleared her throat, clearly still unsure as to how this scoop - one she hadn't even been angling for, which was perhaps the very reason why he'd felt comfortable enough to be this forthcoming - had landed in her lap so unexpectedly. "Are you, um, sure? Unlike some media outlets you may have spoken to, _NY On Stage_ isn't after unearthing private information, Mr. Armitage."

He replied without pause or hesitation. "I appreciate that, but yes, I'm sure and I would like you to include it. I don't go around broadcasting the intimate details of my private life, as you know, but I'm not ashamed of who I am, quite the contrary. I just happen to believe that the fact that I am in a relationship with a man shouldn't have any bearing on my work, although I will concede that being able to relate with George on a fundamental level was in part what drew me to the character. Without trying to be pedantic, _A Single Man_ has a message to deliver that is still relevant today. Society has made some progress since Isherwood's time, but we have quite a ways to go yet in terms of making the invisible visible. I for one hope to live to see a time where no one has to fear judgment or even prosecution for who they love. So yes, you could say the issues addressed in this play and the novel it is based on are very near and dear to my heart." He smiled and paused, allowing her a moment to frantically scribble all this down. "Next question?" 

Lee, who had listened with mounting bewilderment as Richard told him what had just occurred in painstaking detail, couldn't help but shake his head and laugh. "So I guess that means that you're out and proud now, Rich, congratulations. I'm proud of you. But you know, glad though I am that you finally went and took the leap, you could have told me you were planning to do it today." 

"I wasn't though, that's the thing. I swear I didn't know I was going to tell her until I did." 

"Look at you being spontaneous, babe. I'm impressed." 

"Leeee." Richard's plaintive whine made Lee grin even more broadly, and he picked up a pencil and started doodling on an blank piece of paper. For all his teasing, he was genuinely proud of Richard and the fact that Richard wasn't freaking out too badly was encouraging. 

"How are you feeling about it in hindsight?" 

"Um. I'm not entirely sure. Good, I guess? I mean, I might feel differently once I see it in print, but - the die is cast, right? Nothing I can do about it now. And I won't lie, that's actually an oddly comforting thought. I did mean every word I said to her, so let other people make of it what they will. I'm not going to change or crawl back into the closet just because some narrow-minded bigots might take offence." 

"Preach." Lee couldn't be happier to hear Richard talk like this, giving no fucks. "Awesome job, baby. So the days of psyching yourself out over this are over, yeah?" 

"Not so fast." Richard gave an embarrassed little laugh. "I haven't let Philippa know yet. And I'm not counting my blessings until I have. She may just strangle me. Or quit." 

"No she won't, Rich. If she's anything like me, she'll just heave a big sigh of relief and be really fucking proud of you. Coming out is a big deal, and there is no foolproof way to do it. Really, you just blurt it out and hope for the best. You did well." 

"I hope you're right." 

"Sure I am. Wanna bet? Whoever's right about this gets off kitchen duty tonight." 

(That night, Lee had come home to the gorgeous smells of lasagna cooking in the oven and a cheerful Richard, whose grinning face rendered any questions unnecessary and who had peeled Lee's jacket off him as he coaxed him into the bedroom so they could make the most of the twenty minutes they had left until dinner was ready.) 

"Dear Richard," Philippa muses aloud, smiling, thankfully unaware of the somewhat less than pure thoughts running through his mind, and with heated cheeks he drags his attention back to his conversation with Philippa before he gets completely sidetracked by these pleasantly intrusive thoughts about all the spectacularly satisfying and creative sex he's been having lately. "Always one to try and do right by everyone, even those who don't necessarily deserve it. I'm glad that interview in _NY On Stage_ doesn't seem to have made a difference in terms of turnout. Not that I had any worries on that score." 

Lee shakes his head as he looks around. Like Philippa, he too is pleased - although far from surprised - to see that people have shown up in droves for this premiere, and last he heard is that every show for the first six weeks is already sold out. To his knowledge, Richard's interview had been well-received in the circles that matter - it is even entirely possible that it's boosted public interest for the play even more. 

(However, none had reacted more favorably than the director himself. When Richard sent Bryan a text message on the day of the interview to clue him in on what he could expect to read in the next issue of _NY On Stage_ , his phone had beeped exactly 7.5 seconds later to alert him to Bryan's succinct reply - _'YAY!'_ \- followed by several cheering emojis and a little pride flag.) 

It is only then that Lee realizes the doors to the auditorium have opened and the first people are slowly filing inside, and he glances at his watch to see that they have less than ten minutes to find their seats. He feels a familiar flutter of anticipation and excitement that, to him, has always been synonymous with a night at the theatre. This night in particular is one he's been looking forward to for a long time. 

By now he's also spotted Cate and Graham, both accompanied by their spouses. Graham waves from afar, but Cate pops over briefly to exchange kisses and a few words with Philippa, the two women having become well acquainted during the _Crucible_ days. Then it's Lee's turn, and he feels a bit dizzy as his lips brush her silky cheek and his nostrils catch the faintest whiff of a perfume that could easily bewitch the senses. "You look absolutely ravishing, darling," she compliments him warmly, and he barely manages to stammer a thank-you and return the praise, feeling as giddy as a schoolboy when she laughs, soft and low, and squeezes her eyes to merry slits, completely unfazed by his puerile blundering. 

"Oh - tell Richard I'm proud of him," she adds, touching Lee's arm as she gazes at him sincerely. "That was an incredibly brave interview." 

"Thanks." Lee grins. "But you can tell him yourself at the gala party after. Unless you were planning on skipping out?" 

She gives a rather unladylike snort. "Trust me, mate, if I was planning on skipping out, I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of wrestling on all these bloody impractical sequins. Do you think Richard will mind terribly if I steal you at some point for a quick smoking break? I mean, I'll sneak out by myself if I have to, but I much prefer having a smoking buddy, as you know." 

He smiles, irrationally pleased that she too thinks fondly of their illicit little tête-à-tête on that stub-littered, stamp-sized patio at The Ambassador months ago. "I don't think he'll be too fussed. People will be clamoring for his attention left and right. I'm sure I can get a five minute respite from playing the arm candy at some point." 

"Good. It's only fair that Richard occasionally shares with the rest of us... that lucky bastard." She winks and blows him an air kiss goodbye, before gliding off at her husband's side, the pair of them looking like glamour personified. Lee distractedly - and unnecessarily - adjusts his jacket, not to be outdone, and offers Philippa his arm. "If you'll do me the honor, Ms. Boyens?" 

"Oh Lee, you're such a goofball." She giggles like a schoolgirl at his formal manner - bless her, she really is nervous, rooting for Richard just like he is, and it endears her to him even more. "Be a manager, they said." She sighs and makes a face. "It'll be fun, they said. Not a single fucking soul who warned me about these nerve-wracking premieres and the bloody press and how this job is basically a heart attack waiting to happen. I don't know why I didn't become a chef like I wanted to when I was seven. Or a kindergarten teacher. Or an ornithologist, like my grandfather. He had a good, fulfilling, quiet life. I'm sure his pulse never once spiked over seventy." 

Lee sees a sudden mental image before his mind's eye that makes him smile, of Philippa in a camouflage windbreaker and floppy fisherman's hat, trudging through mud and crawling through thorny bushes with a pair of binoculars in hand. "You wouldn't like it, Phil. Some people are made for that kind of life, and you aren't one of them. Besides, you'd forget to switch off your cell phone and scare off all the birds." To his amusement, she promptly blushes and thrusts her hand into her bag to dig up her phone and put it on mute for the show, and a good thing too; a busy woman, she rarely goes five minutes without having it ring or vibrate with some important call of message, sometimes to Richard's frustration. "Hey - honestly, though, don't worry. Once that curtain goes up, none of that stuff will matter anymore and you'll remember how miserable you'd be doing anything but this. Richard's gonna make you so fucking proud, Phil. This part came at exactly the right time for him, and he's got you to thank for it. It's gonna launch him into the stratosphere, and by the time this night is over you'll be asking yourself what you were worried about in the first place. Trust me on this." 

As he says all this, emphatically and full of conviction, he realizes that his own nervous pre-show jitters have all but vanished completely, and apparently he is striking the right chord with Philippa as well, as she clicks her purse shut with a decisive flick of her fingers and seems to take a deep, bracing breath. "You're a sweetheart, Lee," she says fondly, "and I agree with Cate - Richard is one lucky bastard." Smiling at his blush, she takes his proffered arm. "Come on, let's go find our seats and see if that pig-headed bloody Brit proves you right." 

***

It is almost three hours later - three intense, extraordinary hours - when Lee finds himself at the top of the theatre's monumental staircase (the steps of which have, not coincidentally, been covered with a red carpet appropriate for the occasion), unable to stop pacing restlessly as he waits for Richard to join him there after his customary - and very necessary - post-show shower. In the twenty or so minutes that he's been posted out here, he's already seen several sharply dressed cast members go by, heading downstairs to join what appears to be an animated and well-attended party getting into swing in the foyer, and he's congratulated them on a stellar performance, promising them glowing reviews in the press. "Keep an eye out for _The New Yorker_ in particular," he'd teased them, thinking of the chat he'd had with Dean during the intermission. (Dean, who'd come toting a notepad and blushed like a ripe apple when Lee asked if he had talked to Miyako recently.) 

Yes, Richard - and to no lesser degree, Bryan - had proven him right and then some. From the completely silent yet mesmerizing opening scene of George robotically going about his morning routine ("It's a good thing my beard grows back as fast as it does," Richard'd joked the other day, referring to the fact that he would be shaving on stage every day for the next few months, with a straight razor no less, a skill he'd been practising at home - to Lee's delight) to the bone-chilling final scene where he gets into bed at the end of the day, having found some unexpected moments of reprieve from the bleak and joyless existence that's been his daily reality since his partner Jim's recent death, the play Lee has just seen is rich in emotion and full of heart, without ever crossing over into fake or cheap sentimentality, although some of the harsher critics might frown at the appearance of Jim at the very end, the only time the audience gets to see him, as he bends over the bed and tenderly kisses George as George's heart quietly stops beating in his sleep. But to Lee, it was an extremely powerful and breathtaking moment, and so apparently thought the majority of the audience - you could have heard a pin drop in the auditorium. 

Certainly, some of Bryan's creative choices were bold (but then, that was his trademark and a major factor in his success). One of the more controversial fullerisms this time around was without a doubt the use of pre-recorded video of Richard narrating George's innermost thoughts, but Lee thought the technique worked very well (which was doubtlessly in no small part due to the fact that listening to Richard's effortlessly smooth baritone turned his knees to mush like nothing else could, something he wasn't ashamed to own up to) and was in awe not only of Bryan's dauntlessness in terms of pushing the boundaries of theatre but also of the fact that both he and Richard had managed to keep this detail a secret from him for the past couple of months. 

But most memorable by far were Richard's scenes opposite Linda, the actress playing George's old friend and confidante Charley (in the second act George goes to her house, where they have dinner and get intoxicated together talking about the old times and bickering the way old friends do; when Charley, drunkenly and inappropriately, kisses George on the mouth as he is about to leave, the audience had collectively gasped and shifted uncomfortably in their seats because it felt so very, very wrong for her to do that in light of George's grief), and the scene where George meets his student Kenny in a bar and the two unexpectedly form a rapport that skirts the line between friendship and an attraction that remains platonic. Cory, it had to be said, gave a charming and convincing performance that was in no way inferior to that of any of the older, more experienced thespians on that stage, and he and Richard acted off each other well, their scenes together leaving the audience uplifted and yearning for _something_ \- a touch, a kiss maybe, however chaste - to break the tension, but it never quite happens. Yet it is clear that Kenny is the one who breaks through the barriers of George's loneliness and makes him feel things again he hasn't felt in a long time - it is only after meeting Kenny that George tentatively begins to consider a life after Jim with all that entails, including finding a new mate - and both actors breathe such life into that dynamic that Lee's heart had soared to see it. 

As for the final scene, George drifting off to sleep as Jim appears at the far end of the stage and approaches the bed like a beautiful, white-clad angel of death - well, Lee wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd cried. 

After the final curtain call, before the thunderous applause had even faded away, Lee had found his way backstage and gone straight to Richard's dressing room as promised, to give him a ringing kiss and tell him the things that couldn't wait until later. He'd kept his visit brief, however, as it was clear Richard hadn't quite 'landed' yet - experience had taught him that it could take a while - and Lee knew that the best thing to do right now was to give him some time to himself to process his feelings about the performance and recalibrate. 

Before taking his leave, Lee had told Richard where to meet him later and then reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket to produce a square, gift-wrapped box he'd kept safely tucked away in there all evening. "I know what this looks like," he said in response to Richard's questioning look, "and I promise it's not that. Just a little something to remember this night by, okay? Please don't make a big deal out of it." 

"Christ, Lee, you didn't have to." Cradling the unexpected gift in his hands like a newborn baby, Richard looked from it up to Lee. "Should I open it now, or-?" 

"No, wait until you're alone." Lee kissed him and pulled away with a smile, seeing the smoldering embers of curiosity in Richard's eyes and wondering how long he'd take to start tearing at the wrapping paper once the door fell shut. "I'll see you in a bit, yeah? No rush. Take all the time you need to transform yourself into the fucking star that you are. Your date isn't going anywhere." 

In spite of these instructions, Lee doesn't have to wait much longer than a half hour for Richard to shower, wrangle himself into the crisp fabrics of his tuxedo and come find him at the top of the stairs. Even from a fair distance away, Lee can see that Richard is wearing his gift as he had hoped he would - a silver Omega watch, representing quite a few of his monthly paychecks but worth every penny, not least because the minute Lee saw it in the shop window, perched on its black velvet pillow, he'd known it would look amazing on Richard's wrist. 

And boy, he wasn't wrong. He is able to establish that much as Richard makes a beeline for him, every step a stride as though he's in a great big hurry to reach him, and the second Lee is within kissing distance, Richard reaches out and does exactly that. 

"You fucking bloody idiot," he breathes as he wraps a hand around the back of Lee's neck and kisses him right there, spontaneously and, it has to be said, delightfully forcefully. "Have you gone completely mad?" As always, his native accent grows thicker when he's emotional, and he kisses Lee again for good measure, a little softer but longer, really giving Lee the time to breathe him in and sculpt the moment into a memory that will withstand the test of time. 

Eventually, Lee swallows, wets his lips. Murmurs, "Do you like it?" 

" _Like_ it?" Richard pulls back with a disbelieving look. "Lee, it's a thing of beauty, but - my god, love, it must've cost you a fortune." 

"Says the guy who had a four-figure espresso machine shipped over from Italy for no reason in particular," Lee teases. 

"I didn't do that for no reason, I did it to surprise you, and to commemorate the joyous occasion of you moving in. That's a perfectly valid reason." 

"Exactly my point, and my reasons are equally valid. I bought that watch for you, Rich, because I wanted to see it on your wrist more than I wanted to see that money in the bank. Think of it as an early Christmas gift, a late anniversary gift, a premiere gift, take your pick. But the truth is, I don't need a reason or an excuse to give you something nice, because you have already given me the happiest six months of my life. No," he interjects, as he can see Richard gearing up to protest, "you have, and I won't have you believe anything different. I love you -" 

"I love you, too." 

"- and I want to spend many more years with you, and-" Lee trails off, realizing that not only is he starting to ramble, this is sounding more and more like a damn proposal with each passing second (and an inarticulate one at that), and he better get back on track with what he was trying to say in the first place before Richard starts looking even more befuddled and he spoils this whole thing. "Look, I could stand here explaining my reasons 'till kingdom come but I see no point in it. A sexy man needs a sexy watch, okay? End of story." 

"Well, I still think you're bonkers." Smiling gently, Richard threads his fingers into Lee's hair, eyes trailing slowly over his face. "But I absolutely love the watch. Thank you." 

"I thought of having it engraved," Lee elaborates, still unsure as to whether he made the right decision on that score, "but ultimately I couldn't decide-" 

He doesn't get to finish, as Richard clearly anticipates what he's trying to do and is having none of it, cutting him off with another kiss, and not just any kiss but a really, really good one, his hands cupping Lee's face to hold him close as he really takes his time for it, his mouth warm and reassuring and intoxicatingly sweet, and by the time Richard finally pulls away with a playful gleam in his eye, Lee isn't too sure anymore as to what he was trying to say in the first place. It's surprisingly hard to keep his train of thought when his heart is still full with the play he's just seen and Richard is looking so damn radiant and kissing him so uninhibitedly in front of the elite of New York theatre. They've never really held back on the PDA, but this is no ordinary night and no ordinary place, and the fact that Richard clearly doesn't have any fucks to give as to who sees them is, well, exhilarating. 

And if this is an indication of things yet to come, it's going to be a night to remember for sure. 

"Lee Pace," Richard says sternly yet fondly, "you better not be trying to apologize for any perceived shortcomings of what is without exaggeration the single most wonderful, most extravagantly generous gift I've ever been given." 

"Uh, no," Lee says, staring at Richard's lips as he distractedly licks his own. "No, I'm not. Honest." 

"Good. If anyone should apologize here it's me, for not being able to thank you properly at the moment. But I will. Tonight. Or at the very least I will wear you out trying." 

_Christ._

"Will you be wearing the watch?" Lee mostly means it as a joke, but the second he says it - or rather, blurts it out - it becomes anything but that, and his cheeks heat up traitorously at the thought. "Just the watch - nothing else. Please." 

"Would you like that?" 

Lee nods adamantly - fuck, he'd have to be dead not to appreciate that mental image - and Richard laughs, glancing down the stairs at the crowded foyer. Half a year ago, it would have looked like a snake pit to Lee, but when Richard holds out his hand, he doesn't hesitate for a second and takes it. 

"Ready, love?" Richard asks him, and Lee gives his hand reassuring squeeze in reply. Among the nameless, many-faced mass of people he's now spotted Philippa, who is smiling brightly at them (but simultaneously fumbling with what looks suspiciously like a tissue), and the longer he looks, the more familiar faces jump out at him - Cate and Graham and Dean and also Bryan, who is wearing what appears to be a vintage 1960's turquoise tuxedo with a shock of ruffles at the front. (God only knows in what obscure back alley shop he found this garish outfit, or how he manages to pull it off without even looking clownish.) In this moment, seeing the warmth and encouragement in their friends' gazes, there is no question in Lee's mind as to whether he belongs and can hold his own in this red carpet world he once thought would never accept him. 

"Ready if you are," he nods, and they share a final, private smile before simultaneously turning to face the crowd and, accompanied by what quickly swells from scattered applause to a thunderous ovation (it's for Richard, Lee knows that, but damn if he isn't getting a vicarious thrill out of it to last him a lifetime), walking down the stairs, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Heaps of gratitude to everyone who commented and continues to comment! I appreciate it more than I can say.


End file.
